


Hermione Lestrange

by trash_kid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_kid/pseuds/trash_kid
Summary: Hermione Granger was found by Narcissa Malfoy accidentally practicing magic as a toddler. She kidnaps her and modifies her memories. Hermione Granger is now given a new identity: Hermione Lestrange.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 38
Kudos: 254





	1. Accidental Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his friends belong to JK Rowling. Only the plot is mine. With that being said, enjoy!

October 1, 1984

Narcissa Malfoy did not usually visit Muggle London. 

She found it way too loud, polluted with smoke from Muggle vehicles, and greatly overpopulated. Too much was going on within such a small space. She also noticed that all these Muggles seemed to look unapproachable. 

Though, after a visit to France and a shocking discovery about Margaux Avery and her five-year-old son, Muggle London seemed like a very suitable place to go.

She was not exactly sure _where_ in Muggle London she was, however, because she only ever apparated to this one spot, and she never wandered too far. She was seated on a bench in front of a small, rather patchy-looking hill. Its view was an open space of grass and from a distance, she could hear the sound of a river.

If she had to guess, she’d say she was in a park.

She spotted several families walking about the grassy terrain. Most of them had children and pets. Some shared food with other families. It was a Sunday, so this was not surprising. She watched from a distance as a little girl, shrieking with laughter, was being swung to and fro by her colorfully-clad parents.

She turned green with envy. Not because of the child, for she had one of those at home. In fact, her little Draco seemed to be about the same age as the girl she was observing. But Narcissa was jealous because she knew that her husband, Lucius, was not one for colorful robes or laughter. Robes he wore were always of the sleek, dark, and expensive kind. Said robes _must_ be tailored for him. He was always serious. Lucius Malfoy would never spare a moment for some quality time with his wife and son. She had stopped dreaming of such frivolous things a long time ago. When she met her husband, she knew who he was, but more importantly, she knew that he wouldn’t change for her. She loved him, no doubt, but it was out of obligation. 

Narcissa was so deep in her longing thoughts that she almost missed it. 

As soon as the little girl's parents set her on the ground, the toddler—whom she was observing earlier—extended a chubby hand to a large walnut tree. Almost immediately, the ground started to tremble, and the yellow leaves fell to the ground in large bunches. Its trunk seemed to grow longer and longer as it was being pulled up from the soil where it was planted. Slowly, other muggles started to notice and draw attention to the tree. People in vehicles stopped in their tracks, and a group of teens started yelling and calling for help. The child’s helpless parents looked on with an expression of pure horror on their faces. Narcissa herself could not believe her eyes. She stood in awe.

The little Muggleborn girl single-handedly uprooted a tree with accidental magic.

Immediately after the child released her invisible hold on the tree, it fell sideways towards the other families. Luckily, as it dropped to the ground, the Muggles standing underneath it managed to run and take their families with them. Nobody was hurt.

Narcissa searched for the culprit again. The toddler was looking at the tree with pure mirth in her eyes. Glancing up at her parents, her proud face seemed to say _see what I did there?_

While everybody else was in turmoil in the wake of the unusual phenomenon, nobody suspected the little giggling girl.

A few Muggles ran around the scene yelling, “Earthquake! There was an earthquake!” Others in work uniforms and fluorescent yellow vests took a closer look to inspect how much damage was inflicted. The children started crying. The girl's wide-eyed parents wisely started to pack their belongings. The father scooped his little witch with one arm. Two seconds later, the trio fled the park, leaving chaos behind. 

Narcissa did not hesitate to follow them.

She made sure to trail after them close enough to hear what they were saying, but far enough as to not seem suspicious. Because of this, she did not completely hear everything the pair was saying. She merely picked up words and phrases. 

“...not again…”

“...so many people this time…”

“...has got to stop…”

“...magic?”

“...impossible.”

The trio stopped in front of a red Muggle vehicle and climbed in. As soon as they drove off, Narcissa discreetly disapparated and apparated every time the vehicle took a turn or drove too far. After a few turns and stops, she noticed that she was in a Muggle neighborhood, judging from the uniformity of architecture along the whole street. The red machine stopped in front of a big house with a lush-looking front yard, and out came the family of three. She watched them from across the street as they hurriedly entered the house.

This was an opportunity given to Narcissa on a silver platter.

Prior to her detour to the Muggle park, Narcissa had paid a visit to Margaux Avery upon the request of one slightly deranged sister, Bellatrix Lestrange née Black. Bella had informed her that her husband’s brother, Rabastan Lestrange had slept with a French pureblood six years ago, and the woman bore a son after Rabastan was killed. Bella asked Narcissa to take him in her wing and raise him the _proper_ way, until Bella was released from Azkaban, and would therefore take over. Narcissa went to France and indeed, her sister was right. Except... Margaux Avery and her son were dead. They have been, for what seems to be at least a couple of weeks. She did not know why. 

The Slytherin in Narcissa told her to take the child. She could erase her memories and fabricate new ones to convince the child that there was nothing amiss. Her parents, on the other hand, would have to be obliviated completely and sent away. Narcissa was not the best at modifying memories, but she would have to manage.

She did not want to obliviate right away, of course. Narcissa decided to ask them politely, and if they refuse, only then will she resort to memory modification.

She was aware that the child was Muggle-born. In pureblood society, Muggle-born children are looked down upon and ridiculed for their lack of magical ancestry and name. However, unlike her friends and family, Narcissa Malfoy did not care too much about blood purity. She was raised to believe it, but she could not bring herself to summon the hatred for such people. She _did_ believe them to be of a somewhat lower class, but she did not wish them death or misfortune like some purebloods she knew. This was something she had tried to impart on her son, but from the looks of it, she was unsuccessful. 

With her mind made up, Narcissa crossed the road, walked up the steps of the white wooden porch, and knocked on the door thrice.

Not ten seconds later, the Muggle mother appeared at the door. She was speaking to somebody behind her when she saw Narcissa. “Just clean it up for me, please, dear—oh!” She looked at Narcissa up and down and smiled apprehensively. “Hello. Can I help you?”

Narcissa stretched her lips to form what people call a smile, but to her, it seemed rather forced and unnatural. “Good afternoon. My name is Mrs. Malfoy. May I come in?” 

This time, the Muggle did not mask her skepticism. “For what, if I may ask?”

“I want to talk to you about your daughter. I saw what she did at the park.” She said. The woman’s eyes widened, and she quickly started to shut the door on Narcissa.

“Wait,” She put her hand to the door to stop it. “I’m magical. Like her.” On the other hand, she opened it facing up and conjured a small fire that hovered an inch above her palm. The Muggle let out a small gasp and stopped resisting her hold on the door. Narcissa closed her hand and the fire was extinguished.

“Of–of course. You may come in.” The Muggle said. She opened the door wider and gestured for Narcissa to enter her home. She stepped inside and looked around. The family seemed to be well-off, judging by the interior design of the house. Narcissa had hired enough interior designers in her life to know what a professionally-done home would look like. The intricately upholstered furniture and spotless surfaces impressed her. This is not what she imagined a Muggle habitat to look like. It wasn’t, by any means, as grand as the Malfoy Manor, but it wasn’t too shabby either. There were little plastic and brightly-colored toys littered on the ground, and somewhere inside the house, there was children’s music playing. 

Though the house was beautiful, it felt strange walking into a home without even a single protective ward around it, but it was expected given their lack of magical ability. Still, it unnerved Narcissa. She felt her skin crawl. 

The Muggle led her to the living room where a tan-colored couch and two matching armchairs sat facing an ornate-looking fireplace. Narcissa sat on one of the armchairs. “Would you like some tea? Oh, silly me, of course, you do.” The woman hurriedly made a beeline to another room that looked like a kitchen. She called out to somebody, “Dear, come downstairs, will you? And take Hermione too, please.” The music stopped.

After, she hollered at Narcissa. “Do you take one lump or two?”

“Just one, thank you.”

The woman appeared with a cup of tea and handed it over to Narcissa. Then, the Muggle’s husband descended the stairs with the little girl in his arms. 

Narcissa had not been given a chance to take a closer look at the child before, but seeing her now, she was impressed. She had brown curly hair gathered into a ponytail, doe eyes of the same color, long, dark lashes, and rosy little lips. She was a beautiful child, and no doubt would be even more so when she’d eventually grow older. She looked every bit like a pureblood’s daughter. She faced Narcissa with curiosity. And at that moment, Narcissa confirmed that the little girl was one hundred percent magical. The child’s eyes studied her with the air of a wise, old wizard, rather than a naïve toddler. She could tell that the little girl was very, very powerful. She would make a great pureblood.

“My name is Dana Granger. This is my husband Richard, and our daughter Hermione. She’s just turned five last month. September 19th.” Dana Granger pointed to her husband and child who sat adjacent to Narcissa on the big couch. “Richard, this is Narcissa Malfoy. She knows about Mione.”

“Knows as in... about the…” He gave her a pointed look.

“About the magic, yes. She’s magical too.” Dana looked at Narcissa. 

“Is that right?” The man asked her.

“Correct.” She replied. 

Richard looked at her with suspicion clear in his eyes. Narcissa could tell he was about to call her out until Dana said, “show him, Mrs. Malfoy, please.”

The woman was quite demanding for a Muggle, but ignoring the fact that she wouldn’t normally take orders from her friends, let alone a Muggle stranger, she removed her wand from a pocket in her robes and channeled the memory of the day Draco was born. From that, a ribbon of silver emerged from the tip of her wand, bathing the room in soft white light. The magical strands interlaced together to form an arctic fox. Narcissa easily produced a corporeal Patronus. It pranced around the room, hopping from couches and tables, and after, it started swimming in the air. It caught sight of Hermione and leaped to her. The little girl squealed in delight. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dana grip Richard’s forearm reassuringly.

Hermione’s eyes were wide as saucers as the fox nudged her side to give it a pat on the head. “Can… can it talk?” She asked in a little voice.

“It can if I give it a message.”

“Amazing.” Hermione giggled. “I want one, too.”

Narcissa noticed that for a five-year-old, the Muggle-born child already had an established vocabulary and good grammar. She did not even stumble or stutter as her son did sometimes. “I’ll have to talk to your parents about that, dear.” She smiled warmly.

The Patronus disappeared and Hermione turned to her mother. “Mummy, please? I want a fox too. Please, Daddy?”

Dana nodded. “Yes, love, we’ve got to talk about it for a second. Will you go play in the kitchen?”

Recognizing the dismissal, she said, “okay.” She hopped off her father’s lap and scurried to the kitchen. The adults braced themselves for the impending conversation, but before they were able to utter a word, Hermione’s head poked out of the kitchen door. “But please make it quick.” She retreated.

Richard laughed. “Bossy little thing, isn’t she?” Dana laughed and touched his hand. Once again, Narcissa was jealous of their easy relationship. 

“Right,” she said, breaking any intimacy between the couple. “There’s a school that teaches magically-gifted children such as your Hermione. It’s called the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The first year starts when she’s eleven, but I’d like to give her education a little primer in the meantime with our governess.”

Dana put a hand over her chest. “Oh, dear. I haven’t heard of governesses in business since the 1800s.”

Narcissa nodded. “It’s very common where I’m from.”

“Where are you from? If you don’t mind my asking.” Richard leaned forward. 

“Malfoy Manor. It’s a remote location, and Muggles can’t access it.” 

Dana tilted her head, confused. “Muggles?” 

“Muggles are what our kind call non-magical folk like you.” She explained.

“Oh. I understand.” But the look on Dana’s face told Narcissa that she, in fact, did not understand. 

“So... what happens now? Is there a schedule we should follow, or a venue to drop her off on weekdays? We don’t exactly know how to educate a wizard.”

“A witch, you mean.”

“Oh, um... a witch.”

“You’ll have to entrust her to me, of course. I have a son who’s about the same age as your daughter, and other parents have children who are also being educated by my governess. She’ll be safe with me.” Narcissa explained. 

“What do you mean by 'entrust'?” Richard asked, looking uncomfortable. 

“She’ll stay with me.”

“On weekdays?”

“No. Every day.”

Dana gaped at her. “ _Every day_?”

“Yes.”

“Like a boarding school? Until when?”

“Until she’s graduated the seventh year. But of course, you should know that by then, she’ll likely choose to stay.”

“And just how often do you do this?”

"I do not."

“I’m sorry, but let me just get this straight. You’re asking us to give up _our daughter,_ quite possibly indefinitely, to a complete stranger who can teach her a few parlor tricks and special effects?” Richard asked incredulously, but Narcissa was unmoved.

“Essentially.”

“Absolutely not.” He scoffed and shook his head.

“Mr. Granger, you're being very selfish. Hermione will not be equipped with the right knowledge to control her magic. This needs to be done for her sake.” She tried to reason out with the Muggle man.

He did not hear her out. “Please leave. We don’t want your input anymore.”

Narcissa sighed and tutted twice. “You’re making a big mistake.”

“No, you are. _You’re_ making a mistake if you think we’ll let you so much as touchHermione for... _magic_! Absolutely absurd. Honey, please show Mrs. Malfoy the door.”

Dana turned to Narcissa, but when the Malfoy matriarch did not move to leave, she threatened, “You have overstayed your welcome, Mrs. Malfoy. If you do not leave, I won’t hesitate to call the police. Please do not contact us after this. I can assure you, we are not interested in your… _proposal_.”

“I’m afraid not, Dana… what a shame. And I thought I could do this the easy way. I’m truly sorry about this.”

“ _Excuse me?_ What are you on abou—”

“ _Obliviate._ ”

  
  
  


* * *

Narcissa successfully finished erasing the Grangers’ memories, and she did it rather efficiently too. There was not a single objection as she obliviated and imperiused them after. She gave them new identities and told them to relocate to America, where they will no longer remember their old lives, jobs, and most importantly, their magically-gifted daughter. She knew that if Bellatrix saw her, she would have been proud of the work she’s done... apart from the fact that the little girl she had abducted was, well... Muggleborn.

She went to the kitchen as soon as she was satisfied, and found the little witch reading a thick cookbook that looked as though it weighed double her body mass. When she saw Narcissa appear, her eyes lit up and she sprang up to meet her.

“Did Mummy and Daddy say that you could teach me to make a fox like yours?” She asked eagerly. 

_Good,_ Narcissa thought. _The child hasn’t a clue._

Narcissa knelt down so they could see each other eye-to-eye. “Yes, they did, little one.” She smiled and touched the tip of Hermione’s nose. She giggled. “But first, I need to take you somewhere. Is that alright?”

“Okay!” She jumped up and down, still giggling.

“Alright, hold my hand.” She put her small hand in Narcissa’s while the older witch withdrew her wand and pointed it at the child. “ _Stupefy_.” Because she had been holding her hand, Hermione fell right into Narcissa’s waiting arms.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Narcissa apparated directly into the Manor’s guest house and set Hermione down on the sofa in front of the fireplace. She then proceeded to modify the child’s memories. She pointed the tip of her wand to Hermione’s temple. “ _Legilimens,_ ” she cast. With her eyes shut, Narcissa went through the archive of the girl’s memories. There were not very many, because she had just turned five last month, according to her mother. Her memories also became less detailed going back from her second birthday, and before that, they were nonexistent from having the underdeveloped brain of a toddler. Narcissa delighted in the fact that her work was basically cut-out for her. She only had to modify a couple of year’s worth, which was a lot easier than she had expected.

The Malfoy matriarch took her memories and extracted them from her mind with her wand. She destroyed them immediately. As soon as her mind was a blank slate, she formulated new memories of her supposed life in France with a house-elf. She planted some of her reading in the Avery estate’s library, learning to dress herself without anybody’s help, and climbing stairs with her two little legs for the first time. Narcissa also kept her memories of meeting her and agreeing to be taken elsewhere with her.

Her work was finished in a little over twenty minutes. Narcissa leaned back and inspected her mind one more time, just to check if there were any irregularities she needed to go back and redo if needed. She found none.

“Dobby!” She called out, and there was a faint _pop_ beside her as the house-elf materialized. 

“Mistress Narcissa has asked for Dobby?” His eyes fell on the unconscious child in Narcissa’s arms. “A child! Mistress has brought back a child!”

“Yes, I have. Dobby, as of today, you are now to attend to her needs.” Dobby nodded dutifully. “This is Rabastan Lestrange and Margaux Avery’s daughter. Rabastan was killed before she was born, and Margaux died of childbirth. I found her under the care of the Avery house-elf, and I have decided to raise her here instead, at least until she is of age, or until Bella is released from Azkaban... whichever comes first. She is a pureblood, and she will be raised as such.” The lies flowed easily out of Narcissa’s mouth. She has had some time to work out the little details while modifying the child’s memories.

“Yes, Mistress.” Dobby smiled. “Dobby will take care of little...” Dobby’s eyes furrowed. “Dobby is wondering, Mistress Malfoy. What is the new little Miss’s name?”

Narcissa smiled over Hermione’s angelic sleeping figure. 

“Her name is Hermione Lestrange."


	2. New Girl

The next day, Hermione woke up with a splitting headache and a ringing in her ears. Her thoughts were hazy, and she found herself not able to clearly remember the events of yesterday. She tried to recall how she ended up in such an unfamiliar room, but it worked her up, as though she was trudging through waist-high mud. She opened her eyes to see that she was _not_ in her own bedroom, but in a much more beautiful one. The bed she was lying on was massive. It would fit five fully-grown adults. It had a canopy framed with sheer white curtains. To her left was a big window seat with a view of a lush garden. The sun poked through in rays of white and gold, stinging her eyes. On the other side of the bed were a big bookshelf and a tall desk with flowers atop it.

She had no idea where she was, and for that, she started to cry. 

There was a small _pop_ , and a house-elf appeared in front of her. “Miss Lestrange, please don’t cry!”

Hermione shrieked. “Who are you?”

The house-elf beamed. He put a hand to his chest “Dobby is your new caretaker. Dobby is very happy to meet the little Miss.”

She crawled across the bed to talk to Dobby. “Where am I? How did I get here? I’m not at home anymore, am I? Where’s-" a strange yet familiar name popped into her head. "Poppy... Poppy, my house-elf? Do you know where she is?”

Dobby’s face grew more worried as Hermione fired questions at him. Thankfully, Narcissa entered the room before he had to answer any of them. 

“Hermione, you’re up.” She smiled. Instantly, Hermione felt a wave of serenity wash over her. She was not in any danger, her subconscious told her so. _Narcissa is here. She is someone you can trust_ , it said.

“Mrs. Malfoy! Thank goodness.” She hopped off the bed and hugged Narcissa’s legs. The Malfoy matriarch’s heart melted for the little girl. She was going to be attached very quickly. “Where am I?” She asked when she pulled away.

“You’re in my estate, little one.” She said.

“Es-estate? You live here?” Hermione looked around the room.

“I live in the house outside. Do you want to see it?” She asked. The child nodded. She took Hermione in her arms and walked to the window, pointing to the building behind the garden. It was a structure with big, vertical windows, several pointy roofs, and harsh lines creating harsh shadows upon the garden. Half of it was grayed and bland-looking, while the other half that was not in the shadow was lush and vibrant in the heat of the sun. The main house looked cold, uninviting, and almost cruel. It did not at all reflect what kind of person its matriarch was. Hermione was relieved she didn’t live _there_.

“It’s very big… and scary.” She sheepishly muttered.

Narcissa nodded. “Yes, I suppose it is.” 

She turned to the child and noticed her outfit. The child wore a pair of silk pajamas, but deep down, Hermione had a feeling that they did not belong to her. She was right. In fact, Narcissa had rummaged through her son’s wardrobe the night before, so she could find temporary garments for the new addition to their household. The Muggle clothing Hermione had been wearing had to be burned at once. Nobody was to see it except Narcissa herself. She had found a matching pair of violet pajamas that her son had never worn because it was hidden in an inaccessible corner of the dresser. 

“Have you seen your wardrobe? I had everything transferred from France.” This was, in part, false. Narcissa _had_ come from France, but she came from their equivalent of Diagon Alley. She had bought several little dress robes, shoes, hats, and all kinds of clothing for all occasions. All were magically charmed to fit her exactly. They appeared in her wardrobe the second Narcissa stepped inside the bedroom.

“I haven’t,” Hermione said sheepishly, eyeing the smaller door next to the bookshelf.

“Better get dressed then. You’ll be having breakfast with us today. I want you to meet my husband and son.” Hermione watched as Narcissa walked to the larger door and addressed Dobby, who was still next to the bed. “Lead her to the dining hall in an hour, will you, Dobby?”

“Yes, Mistress Malfoy!” He nodded. Before leaving, she smirked at Hermione and gave her a wink. And then, she was gone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Draco Malfoy woke up every day at exactly eight o’clock in the morning. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had told him that respectable and productive people both wake up and sleep early. This rule, among others, is what drove little Draco to follow his father’s every instruction. If he wanted to be successful one day, he absolutely _must_ follow his rules. He had cemented it into his brain. Young the little boy may be, but disobedient he was not.

He splashed his face with water and brushed his teeth before changing into daytime clothes. Breakfast is promptly served at eight-thirty, courtesy of his mother. Although she did not do any cooking, his mother was in charge of telling the house-elves what to do.

Draco checked his reflection in the mirror, gave a toothy little smile to the boy who looked right back at him and headed downstairs.

It took him quite a while to walk to the dining room because his bed chambers were the farthest rooms from it, but when he did, he found his father seated at the head of the long table. He was reading this morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. Lucius spotted his son walking towards the table, and he gave him a curt nod.

“Good morning, father.” Draco greeted and settled into his seat at his father’s left side. The food was not yet on the table, and Draco took one look at the grandfather clock above the mantle to confirm that it was too early. Eight twenty-eight, to be precise. Not yet eight-thirty. He noticed his mother’s absence. She usually sat right across from Draco, but this morning, she was not there. Draco looked for her in the direction of her wing of the manor, but he did not find her either. He was just about to ask his father where she was when her bell-like voice sounded from the back patio, behind Draco. 

“Good morning, Lucius. Morning, sweetheart.” She walked from the doors of the garden to Draco and kissed the top of his head. Draco smiled. She ruffled his hair a little, and he feigned annoyance while fixing it back to its tame state, chuckling all the while.

“Well, I am _absolutely_ famished. Where’s the food--” before she could finish her sentence, breakfast appeared on the table. “Oh, there it is.” She laughed. Lucius put his newspaper down, not a single emotion crossing the man’s face. 

They did not eat in complete silence. Lucius told Narcissa about developments in Gringotts and how they needed to act fast so that by the time the market adjusted, they wouldn’t have to use separate accounts… it all went through one ear and out the other. Talking about money and business simply bored Draco to no end. He was content to tune them out and focus on making sure his cutlery did not make too much noise.

He winced at the memory of the time _that_ happened. His fork sliced down on the meat too heavily, and a harsh _clang_ sounded from it. His father’s profile had turned to him in a mask of indifference, but his words were hardly so. He seethed at him and gave him a lecture about manners. Draco could remember it as clear as if it had only happened yesterday… because it did.

Draco was snapped out of his memories by his mother exclaiming. “Oh! I’d almost forgotten!” She was looking at the garden behind Draco as she talked as if someone was there. He turned his head to check, and sure enough, there was a little silhouette of a house-elf peeking from the entryway. He turned back to his food, disinterested again.

Narcissa stood from her seat and rounded the table, walking towards the house-elf. This behavior was not normal, for Father once told him that he must never excuse himself from the table unless he was completely finished with his food, and his utensils were fixed in the twelve o’clock position, indicating the meal’s completion. Draco looked at his mother’s plate--it was still full and her utensils were scattered--and wondered if Lucius would scold her too. From the look on his father’s face, he wanted to.

Draco turned to his mother, who was now confronting the hidden house-elf in hushed tones. It was not long before she faced her family.

“Lucius, Draco… I’d like you to meet Hermione.” She stepped to the side, revealing not a house-elf... but a little girl. Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. This was definitely not normal. He was not dressed to meet somebody today, so he had donned plain clothes he usually wore at home. Had he known they were to have a visitor, he would have worn his nicer, more expensive robes. 

Narcissa took the little girl—Hermione’s—hand and led her to the empty seat next to Draco. She looked around her with terrified eyes. No doubt, she was apprehensive towards the strangers who faced her now, because she was reluctant to let go of his mother’s hand. The same food appeared on the plate next to Draco, the visitor’s plate.

Narcissa pried her fingers from the girl and went back to her seat. She started explaining the girl’s appearance, “Yesterday I visited Bella in Azkaban. She told me that Rabastan was k-- gone,” she caught herself before slipping up in front of the girl. “But that... he had an heir.” Lucius’s brows furrowed, exhibiting the first sign of emotion from him. “Hermione is Rabastan’s daughter. She is the youngest Lestrange.” She said.

Lucius’s eyes bore into the little girl next to Draco. She squirmed uncomfortably. “And the mother?” He asked slowly.

“Margaux Avery.” Narcissa said.

“Avery?” Lucius sounded disbelieving. He looked at his wife, and she nodded once. “Their bloodline is extinct.”

Narcissa shook her head. “Apparently not. The remaining Averys fled to France after the war. Hermione’s mother was the very last. She passed away in labor.” She said lowly, perhaps to avoid having Hermione hear. Draco looked at the girl. She was now staring at her plate, not seeming to be enthusiastic, despite the grand meal in front of her.

Narcissa continued. “Bella asked me to take her from France, and I did. Hermione lived in the Avery estate, with no one but a single house-elf to care for her.” Narcissa shook her head solemnly and continued, “once Bella is released from Azkaban, she will take charge of raising little Hermione. But until then, she is our responsibility.”

Draco watched his father closely. He looked as if he were about to object, but Narcissa interrupted him. “After all... she is the last living Avery, as well as the only Lestrange who _isn’t_ locked up.” She gave no room for Lucius to challenge her on the matter because she knew that her husband wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to claim that he was responsible for taking in and saving the last member of a pureblood family. Lucius liked to play the hero.

Draco looked at Hermione next to him. Her lower lip was jutting out, trembling slightly. She was uncertain, she was afraid. He was not a stranger to those feelings, because his parents talked about him often as if he was not present as well. He felt the urge to comfort her somehow--nudge her foot, smile at her… but his father would not want him to entertain such thoughts. After all, this girl was still a stranger, no matter how important her bloodlines are. Draco stayed silent and unmoving.

“Her education?” Lucius asked.

“She will study with the girls her age, under Governess Rosier. If Bellatrix is not released by the time she is eleven, she will attend Hogwarts.”

“And where will she be staying?” He grilled his wife.

“The guest house next to the garden, of course. I’ll make sure she wouldn’t be in _your_ way.” Narcissa said, a little venom making its way into her statement. 

Lucius frowned. “Where will she get money for her expenses? Do you expect us to give her _loans_ in the meantime?” He emphasized the word and said it with animosity in his eyes. Draco’s father was not a wasteful man. He believed in investments, so putting his resources in the hands of a girl from a notoriously untrustworthy family was incomprehensible. 

“Of course not, Lucius, dear,” Narcissa said sweetly, though Draco knew that she was faking it. “The accounts of the Avery family will be transferred to her, of course. And she will also have access to the Lestrange family’s vault, as she should.” She paused. “Whyever did you think we’d give her a _loan_?” 

His parents were silent, then. They stared each other down, neither one willing to surrender to the other. Lucius’s barely concealed indignation versus Narcissa’s smug confidence. Draco carefully gathered peas into his spoon and brought it into his mouth, making sure that he made no sound. He slowly chewed with his mouth closed as his parents continued their staring contest. 

Finally, Narcissa broke the silence. “Is there a problem with Hermione’s presence… _dear?_ ” 

Lucius’s eyes snapped to the little unmoving girl. Draco looked at her too, and it seemed as if she were on the brink of crying. Her brows were pulled together in a grimace and she bowed her head in such a way that her hair framed both sides of her face, as not to show the family her true emotions. On her lap, she twiddled her thumbs.

Lucius studied her for a while. Draco held his breath, as well as the little girl beside him. Narcissa was the only one who looked calm. Finally, Lucius said, “I suppose not.”

Narcissa beamed coyly. She was about to say something before her husband interrupted her. “But,” He started. “She will be staying at the guest house, as you said. That includes bed chambers, meals, and spare time. Just like everybody in this house, she will answer to me, and only me. Understood?”

Narcissa replied, “Of course.”

Lucius did not look at his wife. “Understood, Miss Lestrange?”

The girl finally looked up and met the eyes of Draco’s father. “Understood, Mr. Malfoy.” She said. Draco was taken aback. He expected her to stutter a little… maybe cry or react in fear. He certainly did not expect her to make eye contact and speak in a clear, unwavering voice. Draco was intrigued. Hermione looked about his age, but she was definitely smart and perceptive. She was also… _brave_.

He liked that.

“Very well,” Lucius said. “Best you start eating then, before Bellatrix accuses us of starving you.” All tension in the room dissipated as his father turned back to his meal and continued to eat in peace. From across the table, Draco saw Narcissa smile and give a sly wink to the little girl next to him. Hermione smiled back, exposing a little dimple on the left side of her face. Draco idly wondered if it had a twin on the opposite side.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and picked up the knife and fork in front of her. She poked a solitary pea and popped it into her mouth. One corner of Draco’s mouth lifted.

“Draco,” Lucius barked. Draco jumped in his seat and looked at his father. “Didn’t I tell you that it’s rude to stare?"


	3. Tour

It was a Sunday. Hermione loved Sundays, though, she could not remember why. Still, the spring in her step was different today, especially because it was autumn. The normally gray world was saturated in reds, yellows, and browns. It was an overcast day, and it looked like it could rain at any moment, but Hermione beamed. She loved the rain. Its pitter-patter calmed her and... it felt like home. 

She hopped off the bed and tried to peek into the garden, but she found that she was too small to do so. Hermione pursed her lips and looked around. As if a light bulb went off in her head, she suddenly had an idea. She climbed the dresser next to the window and used it to step on the ledge, where she balanced herself precariously. She held onto the curtain as her body steadied. She was able to get a full view of the garden from up here. She spotted two house-elves tending to the red and yellow plants, and two more scrubbing the stone pathways. One was grooming... what looked like a peacock, only, the normally vibrantly-colored bird was completely white. 

“Good morning, Little Miss!” Dobby managed to apparate into her bedroom without a sound. Hermione jumped in surprise and tumbled down the window’s ledge. Thankfully, she landed on the carpet. 

“Oh no! Dobby is sorry, Little Miss!” He cried. “Truly, very sorry to have caused you pain! Oh, this is horrible! Mistress Malfoy is never going to forgive me!” Dobby took the bedpost in his little hands and started banging his head on it. “Ohhhhh,” He wailed.

Hermione stood and ran to him, wedging him apart from the bedpost. “Dobby, stop it! Look, it’s okay, I’m alright!” She said, showing her arms, legs, and a bright smile. 

Peering up at her with teary eyes, he said, “Little Miss is not in pain?”

“No, Dobby.” Hermione chuckled.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Dobby looked at Hermione in relief and took her two little hands in each of his. “In that case, it’s time for the Little Miss to have her breakfast!” The delighted look on his face abruptly melted into sheepishness. Dobby looked down and played with his thumbs. “H-however... Master Malfoy informed Dobby that Little Miss is to dine here, in the guest house, rather than with them in the main house. Dobby is sorry, Little Miss, really.”

Hermione smiled at him. “No problem, Dobby. I like eating alone.”

“The secret is safe with me! Now, let’s get the Little Miss something to wear,” Dobby kept his hold on her right hand as he led her through the door of her wardrobe. She went through the different options of jumpers, dresses, and skirts presented to her on a rack. After a minute, Hermione picked a pretty white-collared lavender sundress that went up to her knees. Magically attached to it was a simple lavender ribbon designed to be worn as a headband. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect, Little Miss! Although Dobby recommends wearing a robe over it, and some stockings as well. It’s quite chilly today, and Dobby thinks it will rain. There might even be a storm. Dobby will be waiting for Little Miss in the dining room downstairs while Little Miss changes.” With a snap of Dobby’s fingers, he was gone.

Hermione laid the dress and matching headband down on her bed while she freshened up. Right after she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and when she was able to manage her mane of curls somewhat acceptably, Hermione stepped into the surprisingly lightweight dress, swishing it side-to-side to see the pleats sway in synchrony. She retrieved a gray robe from the clothing rack and wore it above her dress. A pair of flesh-colored stockings was inside one of her closet’s many drawers. She took a pair and donned it. Finally, she clipped the headband to make sure her hair would stay put and looked at the mirror.

Hermione Lestrange never thought of herself as particularly beautiful (although… she did have a very faint memory of a voice telling her that she was the prettiest little girl in the world), but she smiled at her reflection and thought, maybe she was… just a tad. Her teeth were only growing in, but the two front ones were already a little larger than normal. She never had a reason to be bothered by them, though. She gave herself one last look in the mirror before walking out of the closet

Finally, she stepped into comfortable gray boots and exited her bedroom.

Once she was in the hallway, it dawned on Hermione that she did not know how to go to the dining room where Dobby was waiting for her. She turned her head to the left and the right, trying to make guesses along the way. She remembered from yesterday’s breakfast that the staircase to the foyer was down the corridor after she took a left. Once she was downstairs, she wandered around the guest house. Hermione opened doors to more bedrooms, a study, two water closets, and a small library. She took note of that library for later but left it alone when she discovered that it was not the room she was looking for. 

She walked along a hallway and noticed a creak on the floorboards where she stepped. She shivered because it was suddenly colder in this part of the house. This was unusual. She stepped on the floorboards again. It felt as if this patch of wood was almost on a notch of some sort. Curiosity overwhelmed Hermione as she crouched down to it. She felt around the cold floor for a groove or a clasp, and after digging her fingers in between boards, she found one. She tried lifting it, but couldn’t. Again, she gave all her might to attempt opening the mysterious underground room, this time trying to channel her magic into it. She gave all her physical strength into this pull and practiced hard on thinking about opening it completely, but all she was able to do was lift it a centimetre off the ground. A gust of cold air hit her from below but it stopped once she shut the wooden opening. She huffed and her stomach growled at her. Hermione gave up. Maybe some other time. 

She took a turn about the guest house once again, passing by the same rooms twice, and trying to memorize the twists and turns of the first floor. There was a clock above the mantle that read nine-fifteen. The Malfoys must be finished with their breakfast by now if what Narcissa said about the rules was true. Finally, Hermione came to a stop in front of the double doors facing the garden. She looked outside and spotted Lucius and Draco on the patio of the main house. Lucius seemed to be sipping on a brown cylindrical tube every few seconds, letting out smoke when the stick was removed. Draco was standing on his tippy-toes, left arm extended to feed a white peacock. 

She slid a door open and walked towards them. 

Lucius kept his eyes glued to the paper he was reading, but Draco spotted her as soon as her shoes hit the pavement. She looked very different from the way she did the day before. Gone was the shy and apprehensive look in her eyes. Today, she all but skipped towards him with a smile on her face, her lavender dress bouncing with her curls.

Draco was awestruck. The youngest Malfoy only had two friends, but Crabbe and Goyle were hardly considered pretty. He knew _of_ other girls his age, like Pansy Park-something and Daphne what’s-her-face, but he had never actually met them yet. As Hermione made her way to him, he wondered if all girls were like her. _Probably not,_ Draco thought as a subtle blush colored his cheeks. 

Hermione stopped before the steps to the patio. She looked at the two men and greeted them both. “Mr. Malfoy,” Lucius looked at her for half a second, then inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Young Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted Draco as well. He copied his father and gave her a curt nod. 

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I… I’m quite lost.” She said a little sheepishly. “I can’t find the dining room.” She looked at Draco when she said this, the implication in her eyes. 

Draco stared at her, realizing that she wanted him to show her where the room is. His heartbeat was audible to him… it was fast. He looked at his father, asking permission wordlessly.

It took a while for Lucius to realize that Draco was silently asking for his permission. “Oh, go on, Draco.” He said in annoyance, letting out another puff of smoke when he talked. 

Draco put the biscuits he was feeding to a peacock on the floor. The bird pecked at it beside him, and he straightened up, dusted his impeccable pants, and led the way. “It’s through here.” He said. 

While they were walking, Hermione, a foot or two behind Draco, thought about his behavior, specifically when it came to his father. It was obvious to Hermione that he held his father in high regard. To say that he idolized the wizard might be an understatement. He looked at Lucius with adoration and respect clear in his face. Hermione also noticed that Draco seemed to mimic his father's actions… no doubt he was taught to do so. Hermione tried to ignore the jealousy threatening to surface in her. She never had a parental figure to look up to. All her life she had been taken care of by a house-elf. She loved her house-elf dearly, but she would have been happier if she at least _met_ her parents. 

Hermione was startled from her musings when Draco walked past the door she came from—the one with the foyer and the big clock. He kept walking towards the side of the guest house. _So that's where the dining room was,_ Hermione thought. 

They walked through a set of double glass sliding doors, much like the ones that lead to the foyer. Inside it was a very pristine dining room painted in olive green and white. The table was a circular slab of dark wood, and it had eight chairs around it. From the adjacent room, Hermione could hear the clanging of kitchen items and cutlery. She suspected Dobby was behind it. This dining room did not come close to the grandiose of the main house, but Hermione found that she liked it more. It felt… almost a little bit cozy, and she didn’t know why.

“This is the dining room. You’ve got to enter through those doors.” Draco gestured in the general direction of the doors.

“Your house is a little confusing. I’d found a library and a secret basement earlier.” Hermione paused. “Thank you for showing me the way.” She tried hopping on to one of the chairs with a little difficulty due to height.

“No worries,” Draco said. He then realized that it was his cue to leave her alone. He hesitated by the doors while Hermione clambered onto the chair. For some reason, he felt uncomfortable leaving her just yet. He found himself wanting to spend more time with the intriguingly eloquent little girl. Suddenly, he had an idea. A bad idea… for Draco anyway. It was very much embarrassing, but it was the only way he could spend more time with her. 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, much like a fish gaping in water. He took a breath before speaking but realized that what he was about to say was very humiliating for a Malfoy. He examined the floor instead. If his father were here, he’d tell Draco to wait for Hermione to initiate, and not the other way around. 

_A Malfoy must always put himself first._

So Draco loitered by the perimeter of the room, not making himself known, but not making his way out either. Hermione spoke again. “Do you want to join me?” She asked.

He looked at her. “No thank you, I’ve eaten.”

“Oh um… okay.” The awkwardness lingered between them for a few seconds. Hermione smiled a sheepish little half-smile at him, and Draco had to look down and grimace in order for her not to see the pink blush coloring his cheeks. He wished she would not smile at him like that anymore. He was starting to fear that she might discern his sheepishness as a crush on her. Merlin forbid.

Without thinking, he blurted. “Doyouwantmetogiveyouatour?” Immediately after, Draco mentally slapped his forehead. _So much for putting Malfoys first_ , he thought.

Hermione cocked her head to the side in confusion. “Sorry?”

Draco looked up into Hermione’s baffled face. “Do you… want me to give you a tour?” He asked slowly. “O-of the estate. Just so you won’t get lost next time.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking at her empty plate. “Sure.” She said.

Just before he was obligated to give a reply, Dobby exited the kitchen, holding a tray of food covered in a silver cloche. “Little Miss is here! Dobby hopes Little Miss hasn’t been waiting too long! The chicken took quite a wh--Young Master Malfoy! Forgive Dobby for not seeing you there!” Dobby scrambled to place the food in front of Hermione.

“I was just leaving.” He turned to Hermione. “Come to the patio after you eat. I’ll show you around.” He smiled at her for the first time and left the dining room.

Hermione’s eyes followed him as he walked away from them. She found him a little peculiar, but it was definitely not a bad thing. She was grateful for his offer to give her a tour, because she would have ended up asking for one, anyway. 

She made small talk with Dobby while eating her eggs and chicken. They were very well-cooked. She savored every bite and gave the chef compliments where they were due. After the meal, she was satisfied and happy. She let out a small burp.

“Oh! Excuse me,” She said, covering her mouth and giggling.

“Burps mean you enjoyed the food, Little Miss,” Dobby said.

“I did, very much. Thank you, Dobby. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to brush my teeth.” She said, hopping off the tall chair and making her way out. She passed through the garden again, catching Draco’s eye as she did. He looked down as soon as their eyes met. _What a shy boy,_ Hermione thought.

She walked the long distance to her bedroom and brushed her teeth. She left right away, not wasting a single minute. She found Draco on the patio seated on a wooden chair. His father was nowhere to be found.

“Hello,” She greeted.

“Hi.” He said back.

Both of them stared at each other for a few seconds. Just as Hermione was about to speak, Draco beat her to it. “Are you ready?”

“Yup,”

“Let’s go then.” He said. He pivoted and walked towards the sliding doors of the Manor. He led her through many rooms and hallways, before pausing at what looked like the front door. “Let’s start here. This is the foyer…” He then proceeded to tell her about its history and the select few who were allowed to enter through this specific room. Its long walls and columns stretched up higher than Hermione thought was possible. She was filled with awe. It looked as if they were painted to be a pristine white once upon a time, but the color greyed and decayed, leaving a greenish-gray color in its wake. Everything seemed to be ornately carved and decorated with French accents. They may have been elegant a decade or two before, but now they looked imposing, especially because no lights were lit in the room, making it seem gloomier than usual. 

Connected to the foyer was a grand ballroom. He informed her that it was used mainly for his mother’s charity galas and numerous high-society balls. It was much like the foyer in architecture and design, but it was way bigger. Draco’s voice also echoed endlessly around the room, making it just as imposing. 

He showed her multiple studies, a library, and a music room with a big pianoforte that caught Hermione’s eye. Draco also pointed out multiple doors that led to forbidden rooms. Most reasons for such restrictions were that the rooms belonged to several late Malfoys, and their portraits still talked (and insulted) onlookers as if they were alive. 

They spent hours touring the Manor. The only wing she was not allowed to be in was the East Wing, which was his parents’ wing. Because of Hermione’s inquisitive nature, he had initially thought that she would insist on a tour anyway. But Hermione understood the concept of privacy, impressing Draco. He showed her the West Wing instead, which was Draco’s own personal wing of the manor. He had his own library, study, and six extra bedrooms. For what reason, Hermione asked. Draco did not know either. 

About halfway through the tour, the rain started pouring outside. It wasn’t, by any means, the calming sort. It was an uproar, all of a sudden. Winds from different directions blew across the grounds of the Manor, shutting whatever doors and windows it came into contact with. Hermione walked a little closer to Draco, pulling her robe over her shoulders in the process.

They were walking across the main drawing room when Hermione noticed a staircase that led downstairs. She could not see beyond it because it was dark, even with the lightning providing brief flashes of illumination. She was reminded of the groove on the floor back in the guest house and stopped in her tracks.

Draco stopped walking when he heard her footsteps cease. “What’s wrong?”

Hermione pointed at the dark stairwell. “What’s down there?” She asked. Somewhere above, thunder cracked.

“Oh…” Draco paused. “Well, I-I’m not allowed to go down there either but…” Draco looked around, and upon seeing that nobody was there to witness, he took Hermione’s hand and led her to the stairwell. He whispered, “You mustn't tell anybody that we’ve been here. Not Dobby, and especially not my mother.” 

Hermione nodded.

Once they descended, the temperature instantly dropped. The hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stood. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. Directly in front of them was a large cell door, crisscrossed with rusty iron bars. Beyond it was a dank-looking den. No… not a den, but a dungeon. It was a small room. So small, in fact, that Hermione could not envision Lucius standing upright inside it. The air was humid as if this room had its own atmosphere. It reeked of urine, feces, and some other odor she could not place. 

It was absolutely horrendous.

“This is the cellar,” Draco said. “Whenever Father has... enemies, sometimes he brings them down here. And when he does, I’m not allowed to be outside of my bedroom, so I can’t tell you much about what goes on. Although… I-I do know that these people never get out. That probably explains the smell.” Draco whispered. It was as if he might disturb somebody residing in the dark corners they could not see, had Draco spoken any louder.

“They… _die_ in here?” Hermione’s hands trembled. She put them in the pockets of her robe to keep from the cold. 

“I think so. But…” Draco tried to justify his father. “It’s probably for good. Father would never kill anyone if they didn’t deserve it.”

Hermione doubted that, but didn’t tell Draco. 

“I don’t want to die here.” She said quietly, fear creeping up to her. Mentally, an image flashed in her head of herself in this very dungeon, weak and powerless. Thunder shook the building again. 

Draco looked at her. “That’s nothing to worry about, I can assure you.” He noticed her chattering teeth, either from the cold or from fear. This tour was not going well. He took her hand. “Come on, let’s get back before anyone catches us.”

Hermione was going to let him lead her out when on the other end of the cellar, Hermione spotted a ladder leading to the ceiling. “Where does that ladder go?” She asked.

Draco turned back around to see what she meant. “That actually goes up to the guest house. There’s a hidden entrance in one of its hallways.”

“What?” Hermione’s fears heightened. Suddenly, living in the guest house wasn’t so appealing anymore. “I’ve seen that entrance earlier today. I tried opening it.” It was gradually getting harder and harder to breathe. Hermione’s chest felt constricting, and she took uneven, jagged breaths. Her mind went into lockdown.

Draco vaguely remembered her telling him that she found a secret basement whilst looking for the dining room. She really _had_ found it. “No, no, no, don’t worry, nobody can open it. Shh...” He tried calming her down by taking her hands and looking into her eyes. “Calm down, Hermione.”

Hermione closed her eyes. The rain was relentless, even from the dungeon, they would still feel the series of onslaughts on the building. The thunder was certainly no help either.

“It’s going to be alright.” She heard him say. “It’s charmed to remain shut with blood magic. That means the only people who can go open it are Father, Mother, and myself. It’s why you couldn’t open it. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

His words did little to alleviate the pressure she felt in her lungs, but she forced herself to even out her breathing. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ It slowly worked.

Draco said, “If you feel scared in the guest house, I can ask Mother to move you here. There are plenty of rooms in the West Wing.”

“No, I’m alright.” She breathed. “There’s no need… I’ll just stay away from that part of the house.” She said. Hermione turned back around and ascended the stairs. Her hand was still in Draco’s. 

“Show me the library again, please.” She said.

As Draco followed her out of the cellar, he made a silent promise to Hermione that she wouldn't ever again go through such panic, if he could help it. Draco shuddered, thinking of how tightly her little hands clung to his for stability. He hated it. From now on, the cellar was off-limits to both of them. 

* * *

He showed her around the guest house next, and not once did she let go of his hand. 

Many years later, Draco and Hermione would come to find out that her shaking hands, need for physical touch, and shortness of breath were actually signs of a panic attack. Today, however, they thought nothing of it. 

Draco pointed out that the guest house was built a century after the Manor, which explained the updated style of architecture and lighter motifs. He gave names to all the rooms Hermione already ventured into while searching for the dining room. There was only one hallway they didn’t attempt exploring, and Hermione didn’t have to ask him to avoid it. Draco already knew. 

Overall, the Malfoy Manor was a dreary, dark thing. It stood in contrast with the guest house, which was much smaller, brighter, and cheerier. However, both houses had their secrets, and Hermione was not sure where she preferred to live, given the chance to choose. She would definitely avoid the hallway with the creaks on the floor. 

As Hermione laid in bed that night, she thought of her tour guide. She really liked Draco, and she hoped they’d become even closer as friends. He was sensitive to her emotions, and she could tell that he was an intellectual, much like herself. She was excited to start classes with him.

Tomorrow, classes will officially begin with Governess Rosier. She did not know anybody besides Draco, so she was excited to meet other magical children. She started thinking about what they would be like. Would they be nice? As nice as Draco? Or would they be quiet and unkind? She earnestly hoped for the former. No matter what, she was ready to face them because she knew she had at least one friend. She slept with a smile on her face and her spirits high. 


	4. Psycho

Hermione was not happy.

She glared at the floor sulkily, arms crossed in front of her chest. Her hand tightened impossibly on her quill, blotting the page of the book underneath it. She took slow breaths. In and out. She tried focusing on anything other than the girl beside her. She listened intently to Madam Rosier’s nasal voice as she discussed uppercase and lowercase letters. She looked out the window into the garden and spotted two albino peacocks. She tapped her feet rhythmically. She counted from one to a hundred and over again when she finished. She did everything to ignore the other girl.

“Now, students, if you look closely, you can see that the uppercase and lowercase ‘t’ is very similar. What sets them apart is the position of the shorter horizontal—that means lying down—line. For the uppercase ‘t,’ it is written on top of the longer line while--” Hermione lost focus as her seatmate pestered her.

“Psst!”

Hermione did not acknowledge her.

“Psssssst! Lestrange!”

She kept her eyes focused on the charmed chalkboard. 

Hermione felt Millie scoot her chair closer to hers. She had no doubt that the eyes of her classmates were on her. Leaning her body away from the unwelcome disturbance, she restarted her counting.

“Psst.” Millie moved even closer. “Lestrange. Is it true?”

She was in Hermione’s line of vision now, forcefully making her look. Hermione closed her eyes. _Just a few more minutes. This will be over soon._

“Why are you ignoring me?” Millicent demanded, pounding her fist on the table. Hermione’s inkwell wobbled. All kinds of chatter ceased in the room.

At the tone of her voice, Madam Rosier whipped her head around as she was alerted to the commotion. “Excuse me, Miss Bulstrode, Miss Lestrange. What’s going on there?” She said from the other side of the room, slowly making her way to the girls.

“Stop ignoring me, I said!” Millie bellowed.

 _Inhale, exhale._ _Focus on the letters. The line crosses the uppercase ‘t’ on top--_

“Hey, Psycho!” Suddenly, Millicent Bulstrode fisted a handful of Hermione’s curls in one hand and gave it a hard yank, causing Hermione to cry out in pain. Hermione’s head whipped up as she looked at her, and saw that Millie managed to tear out a good amount of hair.

Hermione saw red.

She sprang to her feet, gripping her penmanship textbook in her shaking hands. Her hip bumped the corner of the table quite painfully, causing the inkwell to topple over and spill on her spare sheets of parchment. She paid it no mind. She looked at Millie with unrestrained wrath. Her whole body radiated anger. “How dare you!” Hermione’s hands moved out of its own accord. 

_Thwack!_

Hermione’s book struck the side of Millie’s head. Hard.

Gasps came from all the other students present as Hermione realized what she had done. Millie’s face twisted and deformed, a shrill scream erupting out of her. Her tears flowed freely as she thrashed around. Hermione stepped back because the screeching girl unleashed chaos upon everything within an arm-length radius. Madam Rosier attempted to approach and calm her down, however, she found herself unsuccessful. The three other girls stood from their seats and hurried to see what all the commotion was about. Hermione stood awkwardly in shock. 

“Miss Bulstrode!” Madam Rosier yelled. “Stop this at once! Miss Bulstrode!” The governess managed to somewhat take her short arms into hers in order to stop her from further lashing out. Millie cried even harder, causing everyone to cover their ears. Madam Rosier pulled her out of her seat and pried her fingers off the desk. As soon as Millie was no longer holding onto anything potentially deadly, Madam Rosier hurried out of the room, taking Millie with her as she continued her verbal assaults. 

Once the doors shut, all eyes were on Hermione. She shrunk into her seat and opened the book she used on Millie’s head. She pretended to read as the others stared. From the corner of her eyes, she watched the tipped inkwell’s steady trickle of black liquid onto the wood. Her eyes wanted to mimic its dripping. Hermione fought the urge to cry.

There were five students in this class. All of them were girls, which is why Hermione’s initially bright morning dimmed. Her only friend Draco would not be in this class. Madam Rosier explained that it was better to cut the ten-pupil class in half for the students to avoid being too overwhelmed. All their parents also agreed to separate the girls from the boys. Apparently, there was plenty of time for co-education in Hogwarts. 

Hermione tried not to cry, she really did. But much to her chagrin, a traitorous tear spilled out of her eye and onto the textbook. A pair followed behind it, and in no time, Hermione could no longer make out the letters in her book from the tears that blurred its ink. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Her face felt hot as if she was running a fever. She was embarrassed beyond comprehension and she wanted nothing more than to disappear.

_What if Narcissa sends me away... back to France?_

From the corner of her eye, a small hand appeared in her line of sight, holding what looked like a piece of ivory fabric, embroidered with intricate lace. Hermione looked up.

“You could use a hanky.” Said the brunette, Daphne Greengrass. She was the chattiest one in class. She sat directly behind Hermione, and she was the only one of the girls who attempted small-talk with the others. Earlier, Hermione saw that Daphne gave up trying to talk to Millie after she called her ‘Big-Mouthed Daphne’. She took one look at a crying Tracey and decided not to approach her, and Pansy wouldn’t even look her in the eye. So now, she was talking to Hermione. 

“Thank you.” Hermione accepted the piece of cloth and used it to dab at the moisture in her eyes. She sniffed sadly.

“Don’t feel bad, Her-minnie.” Daphne sat on the chair next to Hermione’s; the one occupied by Millicent a few minutes ago. “Millie’s not nice at all.” Hermione didn’t bother correcting the pronunciation of her name from her lips. It felt nice to have somebody there for her.

“But I… I hit her on the head.” She said in between sniffles, dabbing at her eyes again.

Daphne shrugged. She was quiet for a moment, studying Hermione. She looked at the other two girls. Tracey was slowly approaching them, and she placed one hand on Hermione’s back to comfort her. 

Tracey Davis was identified by Hermione as the teary-eyed girl of the group. That morning, Draco and Hermione were hiding behind one of the curtains when Tracey’s house-elf dropped her off. Tracey immediately burst into uncontrollable tears at the unfamiliar environment. Narcissa attempted to soothe the blonde girl but was unsuccessful in doing so. Ten minutes before classes started, Hermione noticed that the other girls were starting to get irritated at Tracey. From Daphne, she received a curious glance. From Pansy: an annoyed huff. From Millie: a roll of the eyes. Hermione then decided to take matters into her own hands. She sat next to Tracey and took her hand in hers, much like how Draco did when she was crying in the cellar. She didn’t say a word, only rubbing circles on her palm. Hermione gave a small smile. Soon, Tracey’s sobs turned into sniffles, and shortly after, they were gone.

It seemed Tracey was returning the favor. Hermione gave her a sad smile.

“She called me a Psycho.” Hermione shook her head in frustration. “Why would she do that? I haven’t done anything to her!”

Daphne looked at her shoes, furrowing her brow in silence. Hermione also saw Tracey avert her gaze elsewhere. After a few moments, Hermione realized that the two had no plans of answering her. She was about to ask why, when Pansy stepped in front of Daphne.

“She called you a Psycho because you’re a Lestrange.” She said slowly. It was the first time Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey had heard Pansy speak. Surprisingly, she had a lisp, making her ‘s’ sounds into ‘th’ sounds. Hermione initially did not learn about her as much as the others because Pansy kept to herself most of the time. She never uttered a word since her arrival, and she never looked at anyone else either. Hermionie would have considered her shy, but the scowl on her face made her look more hostile than hesitant.

“What’s wrong with being a Lestrange?” She asked them, taking offense. Draco didn’t seem to have a problem with her lineage, so why should they? She studied the three girls. Daphne and Tracey wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Pansy gazed at her in contemplation.

Daphne interrupted, “Nothing. Millie probably just didn’t like you.”

Even at age five, Hermione missed nothing. “You're lying. It's bad to lie, you know? What is it?” Nobody replied to her, and the waterworks started up again. “Please, I have to know. I-I can’t—"

“Hermione,” Tracey began. “Well… my mother said the Lestranges are mad. Mental, you know?” She paused, looking uncomfortable. “She told me not to be friends with you because your lot is… well, scary.”

Hermione’s lower lip trembled. 

“I’ve never even met any of my family.” She said, trying not to cry. 

“Then you’re an ex-pec-shun,” Daphne said, rather fervently. Hermione assumed she meant ‘exception’. “And besides—”

She was interrupted by Madam Rosier opening the door and calling out to them. “Girls, come out here please. All of you.”

Hermione, Daphne, Pansy, and Tracey formed a single-file line and made their way to the Manor’s foyer. There, an indignant Millicent Bulstrode sat in front of the fireplace with her arms crossed in front of her chest and her nose up in the air. Narcissa was seated next to her, casting cooling charms to the tender side of her head. Movement caught Hermione’s eye as she was walking. Hidden behind an archway were several young boys, presumably Madam Rosier’s other class. A head of platinum hair flashed in her vision, but it retreated into the shadows again once their eyes met. 

“Now,” Madam Rosier began. “Miss Lestrange, I have to ask you to apologize to Miss Bulstrode for smacking a book on her head.”

Narcissa gave her an encouraging nod. Hermione stepped forward and said with complete sincerity: “I’m sorry, Millie, for hitting you with a book. I’m truly… ashamed of my actions. Please forgive me.” Millie continued to ignore her with her nose up in the air.

Under her breath, Madam Rosier muttered. “Well, that didn’t take much.” Louder, she said, “Miss Bulstrode, it’s time for you to apologize to Miss Lestrange for calling her a Ps—erm, a bad word, and for pulling her hair.”

The other girls watched as Millie’s nose rose impossibly higher. She made no move to acknowledge Hermione, let alone apologize to her. 

“Miss Bulstrode, I suggest you tell Miss Lestrange that you’re sorry before I let your father know—” But Madam Rosier was interrupted.

“But I’m not.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not sorry, Madam.”

“Miss Bulstrode!” Madam Rosier exclaimed. “Apologize at once or else—”

“No!” Millie yelled. “Didn’t you see her hit me? She’s a psycho, Madam! My father told me so, and he’s right!”

Everyone was stunned into silence. For a while, nobody made a move. Hermione wanted nothing more but to melt to the floor in shame. 

“Right,” Narcissa stood. “I think that’s enough studying for one day. Millicent, let me accompany you to the Floo.” Millie sprang up, eagerly making her way to the fireplace. 

As they disappeared, Madam Rosier turned to Hermione. She looked at her in pity. Her mouth opened, presumably to console her or comfort her in some way. Before she could say a word, Hermione pivoted and ran the other direction, towards the guest house. As if her day couldn’t get any worse, she happened to trip over a rock in the garden. Hermione, however, was determined to get away as quickly as possible. She stood just as fast as she fell and ran even faster. She made it to the guest house, but she didn’t slow down. She threw the double doors open and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Once she was inside, she crashed onto the bed. She didn’t bother closing her door. 

Hermione released her hold on her tears and cried onto her pillow. She was so angry. Angry at Millie for calling her a Psycho. Angry at Madam Rosier for pitying her. Angry at her classmates’ parents for depriving her of much-needed friends. But most of all, she was angry at her father, Rabastan Lestrange for nothing other than being her father. Why couldn’t he have been from some other family? Why did he have to drag her into this? She never asked to be a Lestrange; she never asked to be called a Psycho. 

Hermione’s fist pounded her pillow in frustration. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do about it. Her father was dead. So Hermione cried for herself, allowing herself to feel pity over her unfavorable bloodline.

Draco entered her room, trying to be as discreet as possible. He heard her quiet sniffles and uneven breaths. “Hermione,” he called softly.

There was no indication that she heard him, apart from the abrupt halt of her crying. She continued to lie face-down on her bed. 

Draco took a tentative step forward. And another. And another. Soon, he was standing by the side of her bed. He paused before climbing up, using his left foot to stabilize himself once he was seated on top, right beside Hermione.

Her hand was right next to him. Without hesitating, he placed his own hand atop hers and he enclosed it by placing his other hand below. Hermione tightened her grip. She began crying again, but this time, it was less grief-stricken and more resigned. 

Narcissa entered the room. She spotted her son on Hermione’s bed with his hands around hers. Hermione was lying with her face on the pillow, obstructing it from view.

“Oh, Hermione.” She made her way around the bed and sat on Hermione’s other side. She caressed her hair lightly, feeling her shake from tears. “Oh, dear. She was awful.” Narcissa’s eyes trailed to her hand connected with both of Draco’s.

She said to her son, “Draco, dear, you’d better get back. Madam Rosier won’t start class without you. They’re all waiting.” Draco nodded and released his hold on the girl’s hand. He hopped off the bed and stood there for a while, giving one last look at Hermione. 

“Go on, now.” His mother said.

Hermione heard the sound of his footsteps decreasing in volume as he left her bedroom. Narcissa continued to stroke her hair.

After two minutes, Hermione said something, but it was muffled by the pillows. 

“Sorry, dear, what was that?” Narcissa asked.

“It’s not fair.” Hermione lifted her head to peer up at the Malfoy matriarch. Her red-rimmed eyes gleamed with tears. “I never chose to be a Psycho. And… it’s not like I can help being a Lestrange.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Do not,” She said firmly, tipping Hermione’s chin up with her index finger. “Ever listen to anybody who calls you a Psycho. You are not. Those are just unfortunate rumors. Prove them wrong.” Narcissa was moved with pity. She did not think this through. She instantly regretted her decision to pronounce the girl as a Lestrange. If she had known any better, she’d have made her an Avery, instead. “I’m so sorry, little one. You don’t deserve this kind of treatment. Don’t you worry, I’ll have a stern talk with that Bulstrode’s parents.”

Hermione lowered her head to her tear-stricken pillow again, breathing deeply in and out. Narcissa spent an hour in Hermione’s room, calming her down and humming sweet songs. Inwardly, she took the time to bask in regret at her decisions. She made a silent promise that she would make sure Hermione felt accepted as she grew older. The damage was already done, but she would make sure to soften the blow.  
  


* * *

Life went on, even though Hermione Lestrange wanted not to. She attended classes every day, diligently answering Madam Rosier’s questions and turning in perfectly-marked quizzes. She also had a newfound love for studying. She actually _enjoyed_ it. Every day got more bearable as Millie turned her attention to some other girl, forgetting about her and Hermione’s quarrel. 

She also made friends with Daphne Greengrass. They got on very quickly after the day Daphne asked Hermione a question about grammar, and Hermione gave her very vivid examples that Daphne couldn’t help but giggle. Hermione considered Daphne her second-best friend—second only to Draco. Tracey would join in sometimes, but Hermione concluded that she was harder to teach than Daphne. If Tracey failed in understanding something Madam Rosier was explaining, she’d instantly cry. Daphne herself was not a very bright student, but at least she had the desire to improve. Tracey just sobbed. Pansy, on the other hand, did not join them at all. She preferred to keep her head down and stay quiet. Although, there was a time when Daphne cracked a joke, and Hermione could’ve sworn she saw Pansy giggle in her seat.

She learned the names of the boys as well. They were the afternoon class, and they consisted of five children: Draco, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini. On school days, the morning classes would end at twelve noon, and the afternoon classes would start at one. That meant the boys and girls had one hour to socialize.

Today, they were all playing various games. 

Draco was beating Crabbe in a game of Exploding Snap (children’s version), with Goyle as their commentator. Hermione, Tracey, Daphne, Theo, and Blaise played tag, and Millie was mischievously tying Crabbe and Goyle’s shoelaces together. Pansy was seated on a futon, observing them quietly.

Daphne shrieked as Blaise chased her around. She jumped over the sofa, trying to get away from the ‘it’. She turned back around and realized that Blaise wasn’t following her at all—until she felt him tap her shoulder from behind her. “Daphne’s it!” He hollered. 

Daphne grunted and jumped off the sofa, chasing Blaise around. In a move that would later be chalked-up to his more Slytherin-esque nature, he cunningly ran towards Hermione’s hiding place, making her Daphne’s new target. Daphne spotted her, and she chased after both of them.

“Oh no, Blaise, you’ve ruined it! That was such a good hiding spot, too!” Hermione shoved Blaise playfully as they ran. 

“Sorry, Lestrange! You’ve been in there far too long!” Blaise paused. “Where’s Theo?”

Hermione searched the room for Theo while trying to outrun the boy. She spotted him behind a sheer curtain and pointed a finger. “Over there!”

Blaise and Hermione sprinted to Theo and pulled him out of the shadows, with Daphne hot on their heels. Instead of running away, Theo’s eyes widened as Daphne’s body collided with his. They fell to the ground. Blaise and Hermione stopped running and went back to check on them. Tracey emerged from her hiding spot behind a tall plant and hesitantly walked towards them as well.

“Alright, mate?” Blaise asked Theo, whose face was obscured from view. His body was shaking... and it looked like the game was over. 

Blaise extended a hand towards Theo to pull him up, when Theo suddenly shoved the other boy, causing him to stumble. “You’re it, Blaise!” He looked up, snickering, and so was Daphne beside him. Immediately, everybody ran away from where Blaise stood, dumbstruck... and mischief ensued.

The game went on for what seemed like hours, and they wouldn’t have stopped, but at that moment, something happened that made all kids in the room drop everything and burst out laughing even harder than before. 

Millie successfully tied Crabbe and Goyle’s laces together, and as their game of Exploding Snap came to an end, the pair stood and stepped in different directions, causing both of them to pull each other and knock foreheads, stumbling to the ground. 

Pure childish mirth encompassed the living room that day. The players of tag stopped and surrounded the others, while Draco was laughing so hard, he was in tears. Millie was pretending to be oblivious as she let out exaggerated gasps. Pansy couldn’t help but giggle behind the hand she put to her face to stop it. Even the victims, Crabbe and Goyle, were starting to laugh along with the others.

Too soon, the clock struck one, and the boys had to go to class. Crabbe and Goyle tried to untie their laces, but it looked like they did not know how. They left the knotted laces alone and walked to the room in uncoordinated and jerky movements, losing their balance every few steps. 

Blaise and Theo left as well, leaving Draco behind. He stood and gave two pats to Hermione’s head before following the others.

  
  
  


* * *

Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Six of them, to be precise. As time went by, they formed a group of friends. In between classes, it was Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, and Theo who were together. Pansy usually preferred being alone, and nobody liked Millie. Draco was not part of this group because Hermione realized that he couldn’t stand the idea of being equals with so many people. He usually opted to call the shots in the group. Hermione’s friends didn’t like that very much, so Draco took Crabbe and Goyle as his own friend group. The pair were happy to be led by Draco. Hermione suspected they didn’t like thinking for themselves and were content with following one’s lead. 

This divide didn’t mean much, though; they still all talked to each other and played around, especially Draco and Hermione, as they were naturally the closest pair of them all. 

Hermione really liked Theo and Blaise. Theo confessed once that he usually lived alone, what with his father traveling the world, and his mother gone. He had no other siblings. Because of this, he tended to be much more comfortable with silence or being alone. Of course, as his friends, the others never allowed him to be all by himself. They all unconsciously gravitated towards Theo. He was their glue. It also helped that Theo had a yellow aura of warmth and jest about him. Blaise, on the other hand, was just as reserved, but it wasn’t out of habit like Theo. Hermione learned that Blaise was mischievous. Not as painfully obvious as Millie was, but more subtle. Blaise’s art of mischief included a lot more finesse. If Hermione hadn’t caught him pocketing Millie’s quill, she never would have known it was Blaise who had hid it. Surprisingly, Blaise wasn’t doing as well as Theo academically. He was very witty, and his brain had no trouble keeping up with conversations with the smarter kids like Draco, but he mentioned once that he did not care for books and learning as much as the others.

Hermione and Draco were in the garden one Sunday afternoon. They were lying on the grass and pointing at clouds that looked like objects. The day was slightly overcast, but not enough to cause worry over rain for another hour or so.

Draco pointed to a cloud. “That one looks like a heart.”

“No, it doesn't.”

“It does if you tilt your head to the side a bit. No, no—the other side. Yeah, there. See it?”

“I guess…? If hearts had pimples and bumps like that.” Hermione paused. “Over there! Don’t you think that cloud looks like a quill?”

“It does. A very short quill, but a quill.” 

After a while: “That one looks like an eye.” Draco pointed. “Actually, that looks like the Crybaby’s eye.”

“The Crybaby? Who’s that?”

“Oh, sorry.” Draco apologized. “I meant Tracey Davis.”

Hermione propped herself on her elbows to look at his face. She looked at Draco, appalled at what he had just called her friend. “Draco! You take that back, Tracey is not a crybaby.”

“I didn’t mean to be offensive!” Draco raised his hands in surrender. “The codenames are what Crabbe and Goyle use to call the others because they can’t remember their actual names.”

“The others?” Hermione asked, intrigued. “All of us, you mean? You gave us codenames?”

“ _Crabbe and Goyle_ gave you codenames. I just use them out of habit. But they aren’t supposed to offend…” He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Hermione sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Draco Malfoy, you will tell me and you will tell me now. What other codenames did you give?”

Draco sat up too. “Don’t get angry,” he said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, expectant.

Sighing, Draco relented. “Alright, fine. But you asked for it.” He paused. “Lestrange the Know-it-all, Davis the Crybaby, Greengrass the Blabbermouth, Bulstrode the Bully, and Parkinson the snob."

Hermione frowned, but inwardly, she was relieved that she wasn’t known as ‘the Psycho’. She just about had it with that word. Know-it-all was so much better on so many levels. She said, “Those nicknames aren’t very nice… or creative.”

“Yeah, but it’s so hard to talk about your lot when Crabbe and Goyle don’t even bother to know your names. This way, it’s easier.”

“They’re gonna have to learn our names sometime. I hope you don’t use them in front of the others. Tracey, especially. She’d just… cry some more, probably.” She chuckled. “What about the boys? Do they have nicknames, too?”

Draco shook his head. “No, Crabbe and Goyle know who Blaise and Theo are.”

“That’s absolutely unfair.” Hermione pouted. After a while, she perked up and said, “In that case, I’m giving you boys nicknames.”

“Why? For what?” Draco asked.

Hermione feigned sorrow. “I suddenly can’t remember your names, that's why.” He laughed at her.

“Alright. Crabbe is—no, Crabbe and Goyle come as a pair. They’re a package deal. So they are… Dumb and Dumber.”

Draco was unprovoked. In fact, he even laughed. “You are... not wrong.” 

“Blaise is… the Sly. Theo is the Sarcastic. And you are--”

Draco interrupted her. “The best.”

“Absolutely not!” She cried. “I was going to say ‘Draco: the Insufferable Prat’.”

Draco burst out laughing. “You’re not very creative, either.”

“Hey,” Hermione shoved him lightly. “I’m just not as mean as you.”

“As mean as Crabbe and Goyle, you mean.”

“Hm? Oh toma _to,_ to _ma_ to.”

They laughed for a moment, and they were silent. Hermione plucked a blade of grass from between her and Draco and started tearing it down the middle. Draco leaned and watched the clouds go by. Ten minutes later, he was about to drift off to sleep when Hermione asked, “What happens at parties?”

Draco rubbed his sleepy eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Hermione plucked another blade of grass. “You know how Theo’s birthday party is on Wednesday?” 

Draco nodded.

“I was wondering… what’s going to happen? I-I’ve never been to a party before, and I don’t know what’s expected of me.”

“Oh,” Draco paused. “Well, Theo’s father is throwing him a Quidditch party, so it’s probably the fun kind.”

“How?”

“Well, we aren’t expected to dress formally, so that’s a plus. And it’s a kid’s party so there aren’t many rules to follow. When we arrive, you only have to kiss people’s cheeks, and that’s about it.”

“Kiss people’s cheeks?”

“Yeah, like the French. You'd know all about that wouldn't you?” 

“I don't actually. How strange.” Hermione said.

Draco shrugged. “Well, that’s how Purebloods like us greet other people. Except for Mudbloods. No, we don’t touch them at all.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “Mudbloods? What’s that?”

He brushed her off. “Nothing you have to worry about. Theo’s father wouldn’t invite any of those, anyway."

“Well I, for one, am excited about this party.”

“Yeah? Good at Quidditch, are you?”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “What’s Quidditch?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “You don’t know Quidditch?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No way! It’s only the _funnest_ game ever!” Draco said. Hermione was about to correct his word-choice with, _the word ‘funnest’_ _doesn’t exist_ , but she remembered that she was branded as the Know-it-all, so she kept her comment to herself.

Draco then dived into a detailed description of the players, the three types of balls, the rules, and the scoring parameters. Hermione was a very good student, so she was able to catch up… in theory. Nonetheless, she smiled and laughed at Draco’s descriptions. 

She then realized that Quidditch was more of a competitive sport the longer she listened. Her heart sped up. Hermione was never good at sports or physical activities. She couldn’t even run across a surface without tripping over a rock… or her own two feet. She was worried that come Wednesday, her lack-of-athleticism might fail her. 

And on Wednesday, it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch the Anne of Green Gables reference? ;)


	5. Lucius's Belt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: violence

She was scared of heights.

No, scratch that. She was _terrified_ of heights.

She watched as Theo mounted his elevated broom. Slowly, he rose higher and higher, until his shoes were no longer making contact with the grass. He continued to levitate until he was approximately five feet above the ground. Hermione watched in part-amazement and part-terror. Theo tightened his grip on the shaft and gave a playful smirk. Faster than she ever thought possible, he zoomed across the Nott estate’s garden.

As he darted around, cheering loudly, Draco, Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey mounted similar brooms too. They chased after Theo and played a game of broomstick-tag. Hermione eyed the broom in her hands warily.

The broom she used was provided by Theo’s father. The other children, like Draco, Pansy, and Blaise had brought their own. Draco’s broom was one-of-a-kind. It was the _Speed of Light ‘83_ , but the kids' version. He showed it off to almost everyone, telling them that it was his parents’ gift to him and he treasured it above all his other possessions. 

Daphne called out to her from across the vast garden. “Hermione!” She had learned its proper pronunciation from hearing the others say her name regularly. “Come on! What’re you waiting for?”

Hermione looked at Daphne, then looked back at the broom. She gingerly placed the imposing object on the ground, worried that if she were to accidentally let it slip, it might actually attack her. Daphne flew towards her.

“What’s with your broom?” She asked, tilting her head. Daphne hovered four feet in the air and Hermione’s neck strained as she tilted it to speak.

“I… don’t know how to use it,” Hermione admitted.

“You’re joking,” she chuckled. Hermione spared her a worrisome glance, and all sense of humor washed away from Hermione’s face.

“I’m not.” She grimaced.

Theo landed beside them “Hermione! What’s going on?”

“She doesn’t know how to ride a broomstick,” Daphne told Theo.

Pansy threw her a glance from the corner of her eye and rode her broom seamlessly. Hermione pursed her lips, perplexed.

“That won’t do. Hmm…” Theo suddenly had an idea. “I can teach you, Hermione! I _am_ older than you, so that makes me smarter.”

Daphne laughed, shaking her head. “You’re wrong, Theo. You haven’t sat in class with her. She’s the smartest person _ever_.”

He ignored her, dismounting his broom. “Right then, ‘Mione. Hold your arm out like this and say ‘up.’” As Theo tried to teach Hermione, Daphne sped away, returning to the game of tag.

After a while, all the kids were up in the air, except for Hermione, Theo, and Daphne’s younger sister named Astoria. The little girl was old enough to be running around, but she couldn’t form complete sentences yet. She mostly jumped up and down by the patio as she cheered her sister on. There were also other children present who weren’t in Madam Rosier’s classes. Hermione was introduced to an older boy named Marcus Flint, a pimpled boy named Adrian Pucey, a mysterious girl named Gemma Farley, and an unknown Miles Bletchley. There were also others whose names she’d already forgotten. She noticed that the older kids didn’t mingle at all. They tended to hang around their respective age groups.

Inside Theo’s house, the adults were also having a party… though their definition of the word was much less enjoyable. Their mothers were having tea in one of the drawing rooms, while their fathers were smoking paper cylinders called ‘cigars’. Hermione couldn’t imagine what they were talking about for so long until Draco was pulled inside by Narcissa. Overcome with curiosity, Daphne and Hermione crept around bushes and hid under the drawing room’s window in order to hear what Draco was doing inside. 

Narcissa was essentially showing him off. She was listing his achievements, saying that he was one of the top students of Madam Rosier’s class. Of course, Narcissa failed to mention that he wasn’t _the_ top, per se, because Hermione took that spot. Draco came in second. The girls peeked inside. What they saw was priceless. It was Draco standing in the middle of the room with his nose up in the air, a sign of arrogance. Hermione and Daphne laughed at him, and his head snapped in their direction. They swiftly ducked behind the bushes again but were not able to control their laughter, forcing them to run away to avoid getting caught eavesdropping. 

“... and after that, you can fly!” Concluded Theo. Hermione looked at him with an open mouth. She’d zoned out the whole time. Theo sensed her uneasiness, so he guided her by showing her exactly what she should be doing. This time, Hermione paid closer attention. 

After a while, Hermione managed to levitate slowly off the ground. Theo cheered her on as she wobbled. He assured her that the broomsticks were _not_ real, as they were only charmed to fly a maximum of five feet. They were also apparently slower, though Hermione doubted it as she spotted Draco moving rather not-slowly. She found herself thankful for Narcissa’s advice that morning to wear trousers instead of her usual sundress because she couldn’t be riding a broom in a skirt unless she’d like to have bruises and first-degree burns along her thighs the next day.

An hour later, Theodore Nott Sr. informed the kids that it was time to eat. Their house-elves set up colorful picnic blankets with bowls of fruit, cheese, and other sweet treats for them. Their group sat away from the older kids, forming a circle and playing games.

“I want Blaise to be my boyfriend!” Exclaimed Daphne, pointing a finger to him on the other side of the circle. Blaise looked down bashfully and took a bite of his sandwich. Everyone cooed and squealed. Pansy—who was seated next to Blaise—gave Daphne a knowing smirk. She scooted over so there was space in between herself and Blaise. Daphne giggled in delight as she stood from the spot next to Hermione and sat in between them. She kissed his cheek, and everybody squealed once again.

Blaise was hiding his face from the others, but Tracey asked him, “Blaise, do you have a crush on Daphne?”

He sunk even deeper and confirmed it by doing so. Tracey started singing. “He does! He does! Blaise and Daphne sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” By then, everyone was laughing so hard, they were attracting unwanted attention from the older kids.

Hermione held a plate of peeled orange slices and was munching on them happily, squirting orange juice on her clothes every time she took a bite. She was also sharing the plate with Theo, who was equally as messy.

Daphne turned to Tracey. “What ‘bout you, Trace? Who have you got a crush on?”

Tracey turned beet-red. “Nobody!”

“No lying allowed!” Daphne said in reply. Hermione, Crabbe, and Theo verbally agreed. After Tracey stayed quiet for more than ten seconds, Daphne started chanting: “Tell us, tell us, tell us.” Soon, everybody joined in.

Tracey played with a loose ribbon on her wrist. “Alright... it’s him.” She said, pointing to Draco. Everyone gasped. Crabbe moved away from Draco and patted the spot next to him. Tracey got up and sat next to Draco. Hermione laughed at his reddening complexion as Tracey kissed his cheek shyly.

“Goyle!” Barked Daphne. “Point to your crush,” She giggled. 

Goyle shook his head, eyes blown wide in embarrassment.

“Go on, Goyle!”

He shook his head again.

“If you don’t do it…” Daphne thought for a while. “Hmm… oh! You have to touch a Mudblood!” 

Everybody except Hermione cringed and hollered in disgust. Millie pretended to vomit. Hermione tilted her head in confusion. She recognized that word. Draco said she wouldn’t have to worry about them today because there wouldn’t be any Mudbloods at the party, but he didn’t tell her what they were.

After Goyle pointed to Pansy and sat next to her, Hermione asked loudly, “What’s a Mudblood?”

“What’s a Mudblood, she says!” Exclaimed Theo.

“Your parents—I mean your house-elf didn’t teach you what a Mudblood is?”

“No, I’ve never seen one.”

Tracey said, “A Mudblood is someone who’s really filthy. My mum tells me their blood isn’t like ours. It’s made of thick, stinkin’ mud. _Yuck_!”

“Yeah,” Blaise said. “Their parents are Muggles, and Muggles are disgusting. But Mudbloods can do magic.”

“But why? Where do they get their magic?” Hermione asked.

“No one knows. That’s why it’s so gross.” Daphne lowered her voice into a whisper and leaned in. “I heard a rumor that they _steal_ it from us in our sleep when it’s dark and we can’t see them.”

Tracey covered her eyes with her palms. “No scary stories!” She said. “I don’t like scary stories.” Her eyes started watering, and they moved on from the topic. They didn’t want Tracey to have another episode. Merlin knows it’d take _hours_ before she'd calm down. 

“Hey Malfoy, d’ya think you can be the keeper?”

They then started talking about their game of quidditch (it was the kids' version where the balls were made of much lighter materials) scheduled in an hour. They were playing against the older kids, so they assigned each a strategic position. As they calculated strengths and weaknesses, Hermione thought about Mudbloods again. She still didn’t know exactly what they were, but she was sure that she’d avoid them if they were as despicable as the others said. She wondered if there were Mudbloods at Hogwarts, but thought better of it. The world’s best Wizarding school couldn’t possibly allow such a hideous creature to step foot within its walls. Relief washed over her.

An hour after eating, the parents gathered on the patio to watch their kids play. Hermione opted to sit out of the Quidditch game, as it was her first time on a broom today, and she refused to do it again.

The older kids made intimidating opponents. Hermione had heard whispers from the older kids’ parents that they planned to have them on Hogwarts’s Quidditch team as soon as possible.

Not long after, the game began.

Hermione was still unfamiliar with the positions and jobs of different players, but she found herself able to understand the game’s flow easily enough. Theo was fast on a broom, but Draco was more agile. He made easy work out of tricky twists and turns. However, Pansy was the true sight to behold. She was powerful and fearless as she threw the ball at an older boy without so much as batting an eye. She was responsible for at least half of their points. 

The older kids weren’t completely useless, either. Marcus Flint gave Pansy a toothy sneer and decided that she was the opposing team’s strongest player... and thus, the first to go. He whispered something to a boy named Terrence Higgs. Higgs nodded. Flint took the Quaffle with a smirk from Blaise by bumping him harshly, then diving for the ball when Blaise lost his grip. The Quaffle made its way across the lawn underneath Flint’s armpit. All the players of the opposing team got distracted by Higgs and decided to go after him.

Hermione was adept at reading people, and she noticed that Higgs hadn’t taken his eyes off Pansy for a while. She watched with bated breath as he zoomed across the lawn and tackled Pansy clean off her broom. She lost her balance and descended towards the ground, screaming.

Suddenly, it wasn’t a friendly game any longer. 

Theo’s father shot out of his chair and onto the lawn where Pansy lay. He demanded that all players stop and get back on the ground. He crouched beside Pansy. Her parents were approaching the scene as well. They fussed over her, but she denied feeling hurt. After all, she said, she was only five feet above the ground.

The other parents, along with Hermione and Millie (who had sat out of the game as well) came running to the field. 

Draco charged towards Higgs. “You! You did it on purpose!” He shoved the older boy so hard, he almost fell backward. Gemma Farley caught him. 

“I saw you!” Draco continued, his face taking the color of a tomato. 

Higgs seethed at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.” He said slowly, emphasizing the last word. “She was in my way. It was an accident.”

“Yeah? Well, now _you’re_ in _my_ way.” Draco charged for him again, only to be held back by Theo and Tracey. “Let me go! I want to hit him, let me go!”

“No, Malfoy you’ll just—” Tracey started.

Lucius interrupted. “Draco. Stop this at once.” 

Immediately, Tracey, Theo, and Draco straightened up. Nobody moved. Nobody dared to even glance away. Lucius gave them a stern look before gesturing for Draco to follow him. Soon, the pair walked inside the house and into the Floo. They disappeared in green smoke.

Narcissa walked towards Theodore Sr., apologizing for having to leave so early. He told her that he understood, and bid her goodbye. Other parents, too, left right after. Narcissa took Hermione’s hand and led her to the fireplace. Crabbe and his father were taking the powder in their hands, so Hermione and Narcissa waited for them to disappear before stepping in. 

In the Malfoy Manor, Hermione could hear Lucius yelling. As soon as they got out of the Floo, they saw him scolding his son, who was glaring at the floor defiantly. Hermoine could tell he was trying not to cry.

Lucius was saying, “...was unbelievable behavior! You humiliated yourself _and_ the Malfoy name in front of everyone.” He gestured wildly with his arms.

He seethed. “What were you thinking, you insolent boy? Did you forget everything I’ve taught you? What did I tell you?”

Draco frowned at the floor, not saying a word. Lucius’s chest heaved.

“Answer me, boy!”

Draco jumped in surprise at the sonority of his father’s voice directed at him. “‘A Malfoy must never lose his temper.’” He trembled.

Narcissa took a step forward. “Lucius, that’s enough.”

The Malfoy patriarch lifted a hand to his wife. “Do not interrupt me, Narcissa. This does not concern you. Go.”

Narcissa shut her mouth but stubbornly refused to move from where she stood.

Hermione quietly made her way out of the room, staying close to the wall and making herself scarce. Once she was outside and out of their vision, she leaned against the wall and listened closely to the Malfoys.

“You single-handedly ruined Theodore Nott’s birthday party. People will be talking about how I raised an uncivil, disrespectful child, and they will _not_ ,” he emphasized. “Allow their children to be around you with an attitude like that. How does that make you feel? Hm?”

Draco sniffed. “I couldn't—”

“ _Do not talk back to me, boy!_ ” Lucius interrupted.

His voice ricocheted off the tall walls of the marble room, coming back to them in multiple imposing echoes. Hermione’s lower lip trembled for her first friend. She wanted nothing more than to run back into the room and stand in front of Draco to face his father. Draco had merely stood up for one of his friends. He had done nothing wrong.

Hermione turned her body and peeked. She saw Narcissa with her back to her, hands on her hips and glaring ferociously at her husband. Draco was still in the same position as when she first saw him: standing with a hunched back and glowering emptily at the floor in front of Lucius.

“I hope you know, Draco,” Lucius paused. “That there are consequences to your actions.”

Draco finally looked up, and it seemed as if a single tear slipped from his left eye. Though from Hermione’s vantage point, it could have simply been a trick of the light.

Lucius continued, “Lie on the sofa, face-down.” Draco trembled and took a step back. Hermione wasn’t sure of what she was seeing, but it looked as if Lucius was reaching for his belt buckle.

“Lucius, no!” Narcissa objected, taking her husband’s forearm as it began to unbuckle his belt.

“Let go of me Narcissa.”

She did not.

“Let go of me, or I promise you Draco’s punishment will be _much more_ severe than it needs to be.”

Narcissa reluctantly released her hold on his forearm. “Lu—”

“Get out. Now.” He demanded.

“No! I won’t—”

Suddenly, so suddenly, in fact, Hermione would have missed it had she blinked, Lucius drew his wand and pointed it to Draco, who was sitting on the sofa. The tip of his wand hovered above where his eyebrows met, and Draco started muttering something under his breath that sounded like “Please, no, please Father…”

Narcissa stared, wide-eyed. She realized that she was cornered. Her presence would only make things worse. However, she refused to leave the two alone in fear that he might do some serious irreversible damage to her son. So she backed out of the room slowly, as if Lucius was a predator and she was his prey. She stopped at the threshold. She planted her feet in a gesture that screamed, ‘ _I will go no further_ ’.

Lucius looked back at his son who was still pleading under his breath. He lowered his wand. “Quiet,” Lucius said softly. “Lie down. You know what to do,” he ordered him.

Draco needs not to be told twice. He lied across the sofa’s cushions, turning his head outwards so that he could see his Father from that angle. Then, he shimmied out his beige pants up to his knees, his white briefs on display. Soon, those were brought down as well. Draco lied there with his bare buttocks facing up.

Lucius’s belt came undone. He took his sweet time as he coiled the buckled end around his palm once, twice, thrice. He brought it down on his other hand at moderate speed, slapping it mildly. Draco’s gaze dropped to the floor. 

“Ten swipes.”

Draco nodded, having understood what it meant long ago.

“‘I besmirched the Malfoy name’. Say it.”

Draco repeated in a trembling voice. “I besmirched the Malfoy name.”

_Crack!_

The belt came down on Draco’s buttocks. _Hard._ Hermione stifled a cry as Draco jerked and howled in pain. Narcissa staggered back, wanting to flee, but also wanting to charge inside and _Avada_ her own husband. She was frozen.

Draco’s cries got progressively louder as Hermione watched the red mark of a belt bloom on his skin where Lucius had struck him. 

“Quiet!” Lucius roared. Draco abruptly stopped. “Say it again.”

Draco said, “I besmirched the Malfoy name.”

_Crack!_

Draco cried out even louder. At this point, not only were the belt marks reddening, but also Draco’s face. His tears flowed freely, and his breath came in hard uneven gasps.

If the sound scarred Hermione, she couldn’t imagine what kind of damage it was inflicting on Draco. Hermione was angry. She was livid. She probably would have stepped in to stop Lucius from his violent discipline, but there was something in his reaction to Narcissa’s intervention that told her that it was a very bad idea… both for herself and Draco.

“Again.”

“I-I besmirched the Malfoy n-name.”

_Crack!_

Lucius recoiled before striking him this time, so the sound was much sharper and louder than the previous two. Draco’s voice turned hoarse as he screamed, writhing in pain. Hermione kept a hand over her mouth to stifle the soft gasps and cries that would reveal her presence.

“The faster you say it, the faster this is going to be over.”

“I besmirched the Malfoy name!” He rushed out.

_Crack!_

This time, Draco balled his hand and put it to his mouth, stopping his cry of anguish to escape. Narcissa felt blindly for the doorframe, seeming to have lost balance in her shaky legs and gaining support from the wood.

“I besmirched the Malfoy name.”

_Crack!_

Wounds were starting to form on Draco’s behind. They looked like blunt cuts and they stood out redder than the already scarlet area of abuse. Draco wouldn’t be able to sit for _days_.

After catching his breath for fifteen seconds, Draco didn’t repeat the punishing words. He seemed to steel himself first before another crack of his father’s belt came slashing down on him. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes, ridding it of tears and wiping his wet hand on the sofa. He stared at the floor in determination, repeating the statement with a little more willpower.

“I besmirched the Mal--”

_Crack!_

Draco wasn’t prepared for the harsh slap of the belt because it came down while he was talking. Lucius had recoiled again, but his slashes were getting progressively more painful, even if his father didn’t do it any harder, because of the wounds. Hermione saw a ribbon of dark red liquid creeping its way down the curve of his buttocks. 

Her knees felt weak too, and she found herself crouched on the floor with her arms around her legs, rocking herself back and forth while rubbing the gooseflesh on her forearms.

“Four more, Draco. Just…” Narcissa sniffed. “Hang on, dear. It’s gonna be over soon.” She said, barely above a whisper. She doubted Draco could hear it, but Hermione figured that the matriarch had said it for herself too.

“I besmirched the Malfoy name.” He said, looking more broken than ever.

_Crack!_

Draco’s blood splattered on the floor, little droplets of crimson decorating the otherwise spotless grey marble. He jerked, but the sound that came out of his mouth was cracked and broken.

“I besmirched the Malfoy name.”

_Crack!_

Hermione realized that the softness of his voice was because it was _no longer there_. 

“I besmirched the Malfoy name.”

_Crack!_

Draco trembled, grasping the cushions below him with his small hands. His knuckles turned bone-white as he pleaded. “Please, Father, no more, i-it hurts… please.”

Lucius ignored him. “One last, Draco. Say it.”

Draco gulped. His grip tightened on the cushions. Hermione shut her eyes and covered her ears with the palms of her hand.

“I besmirched the Malfoy name,” Draco said for the last time.

_Crack!_

Finally, after what seemed like years, Lucius dropped the belt. The sound of the buckle hitting the ground resembled a bell’s toll. It signified the end of this physical torture. Lucius ordered Draco to put his clothes on and stand. Draco did exactly that. With his back turned to her, she could see that the red splotches were beginning to spread on the tan-colored pants he wore.

“You besmirched the Malfoy name, did you not?” Lucius asked.

Draco answered lowly, "Yes, Father.”

“Will you do it again?”

He bowed his head. “No, Father.”

“If you do, you will not be facing the belt, but the Cruciatus curse. Do you understand, Draco?” Hermione did not know what the Cruciatus curse was, but it did not sound friendly.

He nodded.

“ _Do you understand, Draco_?” Lucius boomed.

“Y-Yes, Father.” He said loudly.

“You will not heal the wounds for three days, Narcissa.” Lucius kept his eyes on Draco while talking to his wife. “If you do, I will not hesitate to do it all again.” Lucius took one last look at his son and departed, leaving his makeshift whip on the floor. As soon as he was out of sight, Narcissa rushed towards her son. 

Hermione sat in the shadows, drying her tears. Later, she will go into the room and place a hand on Draco’s shoulder in solidarity, but now, she tried to compose herself somewhat. 

She will not know it yet, but that was the day Draco Malfoy grew cold. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


In the weeks that followed, Draco stuck to his bedroom and his wing of the house. He only parted from it whenever it was mealtime, or whenever Madam Rosier’s afternoon class started. He didn’t even show up for the one hour he had with both the morning and afternoon class children. 

Hermione barely saw him anymore. Instead, she busied herself with the fully-stocked (but rather small) library of the guest house whenever she was finished studying. When she realized that she was reading at a pace that would soon run her out of books to read, she would wander again.

On a winter night, Hermione found herself unable to sleep. She vaguely remembered the torture Draco had undergone with his father and pushed the thought away from her head. The memory would always haunt her, for the rest of her life, but she would never stop to entertain it. It brought too much pain.

She remembered (after having wandered the guest house for the hundredth time) that there was a piano in one of the rooms. It was by no means as large or as grand as the main house’s pianoforte, but it was still in very good shape. It was glossy, black, and the kind that was designed to lean on a wall. Hermione had pressed a key experimentally and decided that the note sounded full and loud. She decided to learn, but she also decided to put it off to another day, as she was, at the time, engrossed in a lengthy tome. 

Hermione headed to the room with the piano and looked under the chair for beginner’s books she might use to learn. She found music sheets, but they were basically gibberish to her. She didn’t know how to read them… yet. So she played random keys that night, recalling from fuzzy memories the tune of some songs she grew up listening to. 

The next day, she had asked Dobby where the beginner’s piano books were located, and Dobby had informed her that they were located in the Manor’s library. She had asked Narcissa if she could borrow them, and in no time, she was able to read basic notes and symbols. She also studied hand positions, chord progressions, and body language. She learned her first song that day, and she hasn’t stopped practicing since. She was rather proud of this achievement, as she had no help from anybody. She played every single day and soon, she was a self-taught musician at age six. 

Daphne and Theo had begun noticing Draco’s aloofness one cold morning, but Hermione lied, saying that she didn’t know why he was acting this way.

This continued for weeks, months, years. Several birthday parties, galas, and charity balls have come and gone, and Draco would only appear for the length of time he was expected to, no more. And when he did, he would only talk to Crabbe and Goyle. They followed him around like a pair of lost puppies. Even Hermione was snubbed, along with everybody else. She convinced herself that he was just taking his time… but on her seventh birthday, after only appearing for ten minutes, she was convinced otherwise. Even Millie, who wasn’t around every day, was a more frequent presence in Hermione’s life than Draco, who slept next door. 

On the rare occasion that he _did_ speak to them, it was usually to reprimand them. He would tell the others that they were being too loud, or that they weren’t allowed to touch that lest they break it, or something of that sort. He had claimed that his father was holding him accountable for any destructive activity of his peers. That, Hermione understood. 

In class, however, his grades were stellar. For three years, he and Hermione were tied for the first rank, both of whom were a far cry from the second rank, who was Pansy. 

She no longer considered Draco as her best friend. As time went on, she, Daphne, Tracey, and Pansy became inseparable. They were joined by Blaise and Theo when they were around. The seven children grew tightly-knit. Hermione had found her family in them, and she was happy. 


	6. Sorting

July 31, 1991

Narcissa Malfoy was not exactly an honest wife. She had lied to her husband so many times before in order to get what she wanted. She was perhaps one of the most cunning witches of their generation, however, her upbringing and marriage had proven to be constraints in achieving her own personal greatness. She could have taken any job she wanted. She could have done more. Alas, her husband prohibited her from working a day in her life. 

She lied to Lucius to compromise for the limitations he had locked into her life. She got revenge at every turn, lying at every chance she got. It was also an added bonus to be the keyholder to her family’s vaults at Gringotts. Both of her family’s vaults. She withdrew money and precious jewels from the Malfoy vault without so much as a hint to her husband. Whenever Lucius would need money for an investment or otherwise, it was Narcissa whom he instructed to take the trip to Gringotts. 

He trusted her and that was his mistake.

There were several properties around the world that were under the Malfoy name that Lucius was oblivious to. She also owned many islands and exotic magical animals for the sole purpose of her pleasure. Hermione’s money, too, was from the Malfoy vault. The girl was not a Lestrange nor an Avery so she couldn’t have been granted any form of access, anyway. She had only told Lucius that her money would be from her _supposed_ family’s vaults to placate him, and in the end, Narcissa gave Hermione a sizable amount as her allowance for Hogwarts. Narcissa wasn’t worried that they’d run out of galleons, for six generations of Malfoys could live luxuriously without working a day in their lives, and still have enough money to feed a small country. So Narcissa took what she wanted when she wanted it.

And to be fair, it wasn’t like Narcissa was the _only_ liar. Lucius was a liar too. He was busy bedding different girls every Saturday night. Maybe, if he actually paid attention to his wife, he’d realize that she was smarter than he let on. Narcissa had always known… and she had moved on long, long ago. 

Lucius would eventually find out about her financial liberations one day. By then, she would be ready to throw his mistresses in his face. She was certain that he’d let her keep everything she bought, just so she wouldn’t give an anonymous tip to Rita Skeeter about her husband’s infidelity. She was certain.

She devoted her life to fooling her husband, no matter how petty. She’d plot her revenge plans day and night in several ways. She dipped his toothbrush in the toilet every three in the afternoon and got rid of one of his left shoes whenever there was a full moon. And of course, she also devoted her life to being a good mother to her only son, Draco. His Hogwarts letter had arrived via owl four mornings ago, along with Hermione’s, and a wave of sadness washed over her. He was growing up and going to Hogwarts where he’d make new friends and keep his mother out of mind for a few months. She was mentally preparing herself for several months of loneliness. There would be no sound of children chatting in the living room, or classes held in one of the spare rooms, or games of tag in the foyer. Instead, she would be forced to live with the cold remnants of her nonexistent marriage. Narcissa realized that she had to find some form of amusement whenever her son was in school. She put that idea aside for now and focused on the task in front of her. 

Narcissa turned to Hermione. “Glamour charms,” she said, “are mandatory for every young lady before going to Hogwarts… for us Purebloods, especially. One must maintain an air of effortless perfection to her appearance. You will perform these charms on yourself daily when you wake in the morning, Hermione. Understood?”

“Yes, Narcissa.” She paused, looking at Narcissa’s reflection from the mirror of the loo. “But… I’ve a month to go before Hogwarts. Why have we got to do this now?”

“Because, little one, we are going to Diagon Alley today, where your Hogwarts schoolmates will see you for the first time. You will make your impression on them, and you’d better hope that you do it well. These impressions will help you get what you want in Hogwarts. You’re very smart, little one, but you must take advantage of the element of surprise. You mustn't let them know how brilliant you are… not until you’ve outranked them in every way possible. By the time they realize it on their own, it will be far too late.” 

She lowered her voice into a mere whisper in a conspiring manner. “Understand this, Hermione: we women are often overlooked by everyone else. We are not considered threats because men think we’re only around to look _pretty_.” She spat out the last word. Narcissa touched the top of Hermione’s head. “So instead of fighting back, we let them think they’re right. _We use it to our advantage_. Let them learn never to underestimate a girl.” 

Narcissa took the hairbrush on the tabletop and started combing through Hermione’s ever-thickening brunette locks. “Plus,” She continued, “the charms don’t hurt.”

She demonstrated them with her wand as she asked Hermione to show her teeth. She shrunk Hermione’s large front teeth with a careful spell she had written on parchment for Hermione to use in case they grew back. Narcissa took her hair and thinned it, eliminating all frizz. Hermione’s hair fell in shiny chestnut locks all the way down to her chest. She ran her fingers through them, delighted when she discovered no tangles. Next was her face. She didn’t need it yet, but Narcissa demonstrated what to do if her skin started breaking out with blemishes like pimples or blackheads. With her wand, she also got rid of the scattered hair in between her brows and on her brow bone. She showed her how her cheeks can glow the most flattering shade of pink with another written spell. Her lips, Narcissa added, she must moisturize with a balm every night, and no magic will be needed. 

A list of the most basic healing spells has also been written down and given to her. They would fix any bruise, discoloration, and eyesight impairment. Narcissa informed Hermione that she shall never resort to the most atrocious form of eye correction known as _glasses_ —she said in disgust.

After the whole process, Hermione barely recognized her reflection. If she was being honest, she felt a little bothered. Hermione was a modest girl. She was never really the type to care about her appearance too much, and the teeth-shrinking spell would have sufficed. She stared at herself now, half in awe and half in discomfort. Narcissa noticed this.

“You will observe that your other friends also had several charms done today. I, for one, know that Pansy Parkinson will have her lisp corrected, and Millicent Bulstrode’s waistline will be taken in.” Later, Hermione will realize that Narcissa was right. “If you do this often enough, your body will adapt. Your bones will grow following these charms, and you will be conditioned as such. By the time you turn fourteen, you will not need the same charms any longer. By then, I will teach you new ones for older age. It is a custom, dear girl. A Pureblood one. Now,” she spun Hermione around. “All the others are in the Manor, waiting for us. Are you ready?”

Hermione turned back around and stared at her reflection—at the girl she didn’t recognize—and nodded obediently.

* * *

  
  


Madam Rosier was emotional as she and all of her students Flooed to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies. They had all received their Hogwarts acceptance letters four days ago, and they couldn’t wait to start the term. Hermione was jittery in anticipation. She had prepared herself for this moment since she was five, and she couldn’t believe all her years in Madam Rosier’s class was coming to a close. She could tell that her Governess felt similarly by the glistening tear in the corner of her eye that she quickly wiped away. Narcissa, too, looked a tad melancholic as she accompanied them. Only Lucius was looking indifferent, eyeing a pair of Muggle parents with his nose up in the air.

They were taking a break in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, for they had been roaming around all day, purchasing wands, cauldrons, and school books. Earlier, Narcissa had insisted that the ladies break away from the group to make a quick stop at Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions to pick up remedies for emergency cosmetic situations. The boys agreed, and Lucius accompanied them to get fitted at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. The girls would get fitted after the ice cream break.

The table was shared by Hermione, Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Millie; Narcissa and Madam Rosier sat to their left. The girls had been receiving curious, almost wary glances from people who walked past them as well as the ice cream parlor’s customers. A pair of teenagers had even come in, stopped in their tracks, and stared at them before grunting, “ _smells like privilege."_ They had left right away. The girls were unfazed, however, because it wasn’t their first time going to Diagon Alley as a unit. They had done so every subsequent year, so they were used to getting dirty looks. Although they usually visited when the older students were at Hogwarts.

Hermione also had a feeling that Lucius and Narcissa tagged along to scare reporters from the Daily Prophet, lest they be on tomorrow’s front page. The last time they had all gone to Diagon Alley without the Malfoys, they were borderline harassed by multiple reporters. An article had been written about it on the Daily Prophet the day after. 

_NEW-BLOODED PUREBLOODS: Will They Follow Their Families' Fishy Fantasies? Read about the Malfoys, Lestranges, Notts, and more on page 3._

The bell above the door jangled, signifying new customers. In walked Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Theo, Draco, and Lucius Malfoy. The younger boys pulled up tables and chairs to join the girls. Draco scanned the girls’ ice cream flavors; cake batter, honeycomb & sea salt, butterbeer, triple chocolate, and blackberry. He decided that he favored butterbeer the most, so he sat next to Hermione and took an extra spoon, helping himself to her ice cream. She pushed it towards him. She didn’t mind—she wouldn’t have been able to finish it all, anyway. The other boys did the same as well with the other girls… except Crabbe and Goyle, who had bought their own banana split for the two of them to share.

Upon the boys’ entrance, some other customers had stood and left, leaving their ice cream bows unfinished. There were only a few who stayed. One odd-looking teen had the nerve to openly glare at them. At this, Draco glared back, and so did Crabbe and Goyle. After scaring all the customers away, Hermione came to another recurring realization: Draco was practically a bully to the people he didn’t know. She had already known this for years, but still, it surprised her. He was kind and respectful around them, but the opposite with people of lower rank. She considered herself lucky to have been his friend from an early age because she would _not_ like to be on the receiving end of one of those deadly glares of his.

“How was the robe-fitting?” Asked Daphne.

Theo responded, “Pretty boring. We took turns in the robe shop and in Quality Quidditch Supplies. I reckon my dad’s going to get me a new broom soon. Mine’s wasting away in the old shed. We’ve had good times, but it’s time for her to go.”

“I, for one, can’t wait to get new robes.” Proclaimed Millie. “I absolutely _need_ to buy clothes that actually fit me, now that I’ve lost all my baby fat.” She gave a smug smile.

Hermione stared at Millie. It was astounding to see how differently she looked yesterday. Narcissa was right. Hermione’s transformation that morning was negligible compared to Millie’s, or even Tracey and Daphne’s. Millie was now as skinny as Tracey. Her cheekbones were higher, back straighter, and fingers no longer stubby. Daphne and Tracey too, looked as if they had matured overnight—which they probably did. Only Pansy looked as untouched as Hermione if one could even call it that.

As Draco took another bite of Hermione’s ice cream, he gave her an unsubtle sideways glance that Hermione pretended not to notice. He had been glancing at her all day, and she wondered whether it was due to her transformation that morning. He also walked a little closer to her and paid more attention to the things she was saying. She had caught his eyes lingering on her face twice that day, even if it had been a full minute since she made her comments, and the conversation had already moved on.

Hermione blushed. At that moment, she understood what Narcissa had meant when she told Hermione that she must take advantage of her appearance in order to mislead unsuspecting peers. However, she realized that if anyone knew how brilliant she really was, it would be Draco. After all, his scores were almost as good as hers—and he would most definitely _not_ forget how hard he had worked to beat her. It was too bad he never did, really.

“...could’ve sworn he was part-giant.” Blaise had been saying. “Massive thing, he was.”

“Is that why you called me to the window?” Asked Theo.

“Yeah, but you were too busy ogling a pair of gloves.”

“I saw him,” said Draco. “I was getting fitted with another boy. He was a first-year too, I could tell. We were just talking and then the giant appeared outside the window in front of us.”

“Saw who?” Hermione asked, taking a spoon and dipping it into their shared ice cream before popping it into her mouth.

Draco shrugged. “A giant creature. His name is Hagrid. He works for Hogwarts. My father told me that he’s some sort of servant. The other boy called him a gamekeeper.”

“Guess we’ll be seeing him around a lot.” Said Pansy. She was a lot more comfortable talking now that she spoke without a lisp.

“I _hope_ _not_. I heard he’s a savage. I’ve been told he can’t do magic well. He also gets drunk a lot, apparently.” Draco said in a bored drawl.

They talked about running into people they had already known from before: Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, and Terrence Higgs. According to Tracey’s parents, the older kids were already in the Slytherin Quidditch team that Draco, Theo, and Pansy wanted to try out for. Then, the conversation moved to how unfair it was that first-years couldn’t play in official Hogwarts Quidditch teams yet. “The stupid rule should only be applicable to Mudbloods and other students who didn’t spend their whole lives playing on brooms,” Millie said.

Just then, the adults stood and instructed them to finish their bowls of ice cream soon because the ladies needed to go and get fitted before the place got over-crowded.

  
  
  


* * *

September 1, 1991

_**FIRST YEAR** _

Hermione stepped onto the Hogwarts express behind her friends. She walked with her chin up and wrinkled her nose haughtily at the blatant display of horseplay and hooliganism from her fellow first-years. Several boys and girls were chasing each other up and down corridors, some wearing uniforms, and some in Muggle clothing. There was a short boy in the corner of the train cart who looked like he was crying and asking for his Mummy. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked away.

“Honestly,” She muttered. “How barbaric can they get?” Hermione side-stepped a disgusting sock on the floor and tried not to gag.

She noticed that other students tended to stare at them, probably because they felt that _these_ kids were different. They were obviously mature enough not to cause any sort of disturbance in their wake. Others already knew who they were, judging from the scowls they sent their way. Some stared openly, while some glanced and whispered to their friends while jabbing their fingers in their direction.

At the end of the hallway: “There are no more empty compartments!” cried an exasperated Daphne, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Nonsense,” Pansy replied. 

Hermione furrowed her brows. She, too, had seen that all private compartments had students inside of them. She followed the group being led by Pansy down the opposite side of the hall, before stopping at a compartment where its only occupants were only a pair of wide-eyed twin girls. She slid the door open all the way.

Pansy didn’t say a word. In fact, she had only stared down her nose at the fraternal twins. Everybody else did the same, and eleven tense seconds went by. They were truly an intimidating sight, the ten of them, what with their pristine and pressed robes, freshly-glamoured looks, wands, and unsmiling faces. 

One of the twins stared back defiantly, but the other looked downright scared. She clung to her stronger sister’s arm like a sloth.

Pansy said slowly, “Is this compartment taken?” She arched a brow and smiled the kind of smile that would have Hermione shake in her boots.

The scared-looking twin quickly said, “No, it isn’t.” She tugged hard on her sister’s sleeve and said discreetly, “Parvati, _let’s go_. _Now_.” She pulled her sister up from the seat.

Soon, the two scurried away. “Good one, Pans,” commented Draco. Pansy and the others entered the now-vacant compartment, but Hermione turned her head, her eyes trailing after the retreating figures. The braver one, Parvati, was looking back at them with an angry glare. Hermione was used to this. Her friends were bullies. Perhaps she, too, was a bully whenever she was around them. She looked away and stepped into the room.

“Who were those?” Asked Theo.

“Half-bloods,” Pansy said, sinking into the chair.

“Oh.” That was all that was said about them.

Soon after the Hogwarts Express had departed King’s Cross, a woman who was pushing a cart of sweets passed by their compartment. Their eyes lip up and everyone bought a generous amount of confections and treats, for they were all quite hungry from today’s anticipation. They needed their fill of candy. 

Hermione excused herself to use the loo after sitting so still. She walked to the loo and groaned inwardly. There was an existing line, she realized in irritation. Bitterly, she sighed and waited for her turn. The girl in front of Hermione suddenly turned her head around. She took one look at the Lestrange and glowered, losing her spot in the line to get as much distance from Hermione as possible.

Hermione was unfazed. She thought, _good_ — _the faster I get to the loo, the faster I’ll get out._

After five minutes, Hermione walked back to her section of the train. She passed by multiple compartments (as theirs was farther down), and did a double-take at one of them, not believing her eyes. 

A lanky boy was seated inside, petting a sleeping rat. His clothes looked old and worn-out as if it had been passed down every generation. His hair was also very, very red. From her friends’ stories, she deduced that this boy was probably a Weasley. But the Weasley was not why Hermione’s eyes nearly bulged. There was a skinny boy seated across the Weasley. He wore a pair of black circular glasses, and his black hair was parted to the side, showing what looked like a scar in the shape of… was that a lightning bolt?

Hermione gasped. It was Harry Potter.

She hurried her way down the hall and entered their compartment. 

“Harry Potter is down the hall to the left.” She said in a rush.

“Harry Potter? As in… the you-know-what?” Asked Daphne.

“The very one. Lightning scar and everything. I think,” Hermione hesitated, realizing that she had only looked at him for a second. “He was with a Weasley.”

Pansy said, “Right, yeah, he’s in our year, isn’t he? I heard he’ll be attending Hogwarts with us.” 

Draco sprung to his feet. “I’ve got to meet him. If what you’re saying is true, ‘Mione, then we need to befriend him. Can’t have Harry Potter gallivanting about with Weasleys, can we? Crabbe? Goyle?” The two looked up from their empty pile of sweets. Draco motioned for them to get up with a nod of his head. Together, the three of them exited the compartment. Hermione sat on the seat previously occupied by Draco.

Blaise sniggered and made a comment about Malfoys who can’t help but exert dominance over the lower class. Everyone laughed.

“Wait… Harry Potter? Who’s that?” Asked Tracey.

Hermione’s brow arched at Tracey’s ignorance. They had _literally_ just studied him last year with Madam Rosier. Judging from everyone else’s silence, they all thought the same thing. Still, she answered proudly, “Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord when he was a year old, remember?” 

Theo clutched his chest and feigned agony. “His parents were killed horribly, but the boy lives on. The bloke lives with his Godfather now. Black—Sirius Black, I think.”

“How’d he do it if he was a baby?”

“Love, or some other bullshit,” commented Blaise, studying his nail beds. “If he really defeated the Dark Lord at that age, he could probably freeze hell over by now.”

“Think he’ll be in Slytherin?”

“Dunno, never met the guy.”

“I think so,” announced Daphne. “He _did_ kill the Dark Lord.”

Hermione countered, “But what if that counts towards his more Gryffindor-like qualities?”

At the same time, Daphne and Blaise said: “Perhaps,” and “Ugh. Gryffindors.”

“I’d eat my own toes if I were sorted anywhere but Slytherin.” Said Millie, holding an enchanted mirror up to her face. “I suppose Ravenclaw’s not so horrible, but I don’t like being around a bunch of know-it-alls every day. No offense, Lestrange.” She said, not sounding sorry at all.

“None taken,” Hermione muttered under her breath. She knew that Millie wouldn’t end up in Ravenclaw anyway, if her grades were any indication. “Gryffindor’s not so bad, though, is it?” She asked her friends.

“It’s completely atrocious,” said Blaise with a wrinkle of his nose, who, Hermione realized, was very much against every other house but Slytherin. “Although not as bad as Hufflepuff. But my whole family’s from Slytherin. Yours too, Lestrange. And Nott. And Green—you know what, all our families are from Slytherin, so there’s really no point in wanting anything else. Besides,” he paused. “Slytherin’s the best.”

At that, no one argued. 

Deep down, Hermione was scared. She feared that perhaps she was not as cunning as her friends, and she didn’t exactly _desire_ to be in Slytherin as much as they did. The idea of being sorted into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor was not unappealing to her, and this scared her.

However, she also realized that she didn’t want to be alone. She’d rather be sorted into a house she didn’t particularly yearn for just to be with her friends. The people around her were the people who have been with her from the beginning, and she wasn’t going to let an old talking hat decide otherwise.

Seated next to Hermione was Millie. She brought a potion out of her pocket, handed it to Hermione, and asked her what it did.

“You bought it; you should know,” Hermione said, turning the geometric glass bottle over in her palm. Inside was a clear pink liquid. There was no label, so she was also at a loss.

“I bought it because it looked pretty,” Millie said, rolling her eyes. The other kids chatted about different things. Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise wondered about the remote location of Hogwarts, and Pansy and Blaise took turns trying Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

Hermione popped the cap open. “If someone wanted to kill you, Millie, all they’d have to do is put poison in a pretty bottle.” She sniffed its contents and cringed at the overpowering scent of flowers.

“Well, it’s a good thing nobody wants to kill me.”

Hermione seriously doubted that.

“It’s perfume.” She said after double-checking for charms.

“Hm?”

She returned the bottle to her. “It’s only perfume, Mills. Go on, smell it.”

Millie brought her nose to the cap and scrunched it after. “Is that all? No beautifying effects? No enchantments or charms?”

“I’m afraid it’s not even a potion.”

Millie huffed and stuffed the bottle back into her pocket.

Just then, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle entered the compartment. Hermione scooted over as Draco stood in front of her, gesturing for her to move. He sat next to her, angrily muttering something under his breath.

“How’d it go?” She asked him. 

Her friends stopped what they were doing at once and listened to Draco’s reply.

“ _Potter_ ,” he spat. “We don’t need him, anyway.”

“Why, what’s happened?”

Draco glared at Theo’s shoes in front of him and crossed his arms. After a while, they realized he wasn’t going to speak, so Hermione asked Crabbe and Goyle instead.

“Potter turned him down,” said Crabbe.

“Rejected him, really,” said Goyle

“ _Shut up!_ ” Draco bellowed in embarrassment. “No more of all this talk about Potter. If he wants to hang around with beggarly Weasleys, then let him! Besides, we’re much better off without that wanker. He’ll be sorry for this. I’ll make sure of it.”

At once, everyone decided it was time to change topics. They talked and gossiped about their future professors and how they treat their students. Hermione would have paid attention, but she was distracted by Draco’s heavy breathing next to her. She could tell that he was still ashamed of being turned down. 

Draco never did get used to rejection. 

His hand was in between them on the seat, and Hermione brushed it once with her own smaller hand to reassure him. He eyed her without turning his head, and she smiled.

Daphne caught this movement and raised a brow, gears turning in her head.

* * *

  
  


“LESTRANGE!”

The Great Hall went silent. All heads swiveled towards Hermione’s direction, and she lifted her chin proudly, bounding up the steps to place the Sorting Hat over her head. She knew she was some sort of celebrity—albeit an infamous one—so she was used to this kind of attention. People didn’t like her. Hermione knew exactly why. Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange were responsible for countless murders and disappearances. It came as no surprise to her as older students started their low whispers and lingering glances. Some professors had started murmuring amongst themselves as well.

The Sorting Hat slid over her eyes. 

“Ah, yes, brilliant,” said a small voice in her ear. “Brilliant indeed, no doubt. You would contribute to Ravenclaw’s greatness. And bravery is evident, too. A great mind and a bold soul.”

Hermione held her breath.

“Must be either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor for you.”

 _No!_ Hermione thought. Her heart sank. Millie, Crabbe, Tracey, Goyle, and Daphne had already been sorted, and every single one of them was in Slytherin. Hermione wanted it now more than ever.

“No?” It asked. “Why not? Where do you prefer to be sorted?” 

_Please put me in Slytherin, please, please…_

“ _Slytherin_? Why I—” The Sorting Hat was silent for a couple of seconds. And then, “Miss… Lestrange, I’m afraid you were told to believe in something you’re not. I assure you, you’d regret being put into Slytherin a few years down the road.”

Hermione ignored the Sorting Hat’s sinister comment. _I won’t. My whole family’s been sorted there, and so have my friends, I don’t wanna be alone, please. No one else will be my friend, they’re the only ones I’ve got,_ she pleaded.

“Have you seen their lot? Do you think you belong there?”

_Yes! Yes, I do think that!_

“Hm… I don’t know…”

 _Please, oh please? I’ll prove it. I’ll prove that I do belong in Slytherin if you just give me a chance. Please?_ Hermione asked the Hat. _I just don’t want to be alone anymore._

“Well… I guess you _are_ determined to achieve some level of self-preservation and fraternity. Oh, but for the record, Gryffindor will have been a better fit for you. So I suppose it’s got to be… SLYTHERIN!”

Students in green neckties clapped and cheered. Hermione sagged in relief, mentally thanking the hat and placing it back on the stool. She beamed at her friends over at the Slytherin table and made a beeline towards them. She stopped, however, at a light touch on her palm.

Draco was grinning proudly at her. He tightened his grip on her hand and she squeezed his as well. “Good luck,” she said to him as the next student was called.

Apparently, Draco hadn’t needed any luck at all, for the Sorting Hat barely touched his head before proclaiming him a Slytherin. After the Sorting ceremony, the ten of them were complete. There was a grand feast, and everything would have been perfect… if not for the Bloody Baron seated next to Draco. But besides that, Hermione felt warmth spreading all over her chest. She knew… she just knew that Hogwarts was going to be her home for a very long time.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


A week later, Theo sank into the couch next to Hermione, sighing contentedly. “Ah, now this is definitely the comfiest spot in the whole school.” He said.

“Nott, if you don’t bathe soon, I’m literally going to kick you out of our dormitory.” Said Blaise, leaning away from Theo to stretch his legs.

“Wonderful. Ladies, care to take me in?”

“Absolutely not.” Said Hermione with a chuckle.

They got assigned roommates after the Feast, and Hermione was pleased to be roomed with Daphne, Millie, and two other girls. One of them was named Anya Mozorov. Anya was nice enough, though she was the quietest of the five. There was also a language barrier between herself and the four girls because she had come from Russia, so there was even less of a reason to converse. Their other roommate was Scarlett Scadfell, a Scottish half-blood with chocolate skin and onyx hair that she always kept up and out of her face. Upon first glance, Hermione instantly got the impression that she was affluent, with her expensive jewelry, bejeweled hair clips, and high-quality ponytail elastics. She fit in quite well with the other Purebloods. Hermione easily became friends with the new girls. Pansy and Tracey were roommates on the other side of the hall. They weren’t very keen on separating from their friends, but even deadly glares aimed at Prefects didn’t do much for their case. Draco, Blaise, and Theo shared a dormitory, while Crabbe and Goyle were in different rooms.

Hermione, Daphne, Blaise, and Theo were currently lounging in the common room in front of the fireplace. The longest sofa was claimed as their own. Hermione heard the upper years complaining about why the first-years were dominating the best spot, but upon one look at _who_ exactly those first years were, they asked no further questions. 

There was a large tome in front of Hermione’s nose. Her friends rolled their eyes upon seeing her revising this early in the year, but they were unsurprised. She had escaped her dormitory an hour ago because everybody was trying to teach Anya basic English. So Hermione had gone to the common room. Daphne followed, and soon, Blaise and Theo had come too.

Hermione tuned the others out as she tried to focus on the words in front of her. However, the minute some information started actually soaking up in her brain, the clocked tolled twice, signifying the start of the next class in ten minutes. She sighed and collected her things.

Standing from the couch, Hermione said, “C’mon, boys, get up or we’ll be late. Daph, let’s go.”

“What class do we have next? Potions?” Theo asked. “Mhm… I’m feeling a little lazy, to be honest, so we’ll follow right after. Blaise and I’ll be there in a sec.” 

Hermione held out a hand to Daphne, and she used it to stand upright. The girls gave the boys twin incredulous looks.

Theo groaned. “It’s _fine_ , honestly.”

“Yeah, it’s just Snape, he won’t mind.” Blaise had a point. Snape _did_ have a particular liking for Slytherin students. It was probably because he was their Head of House.

With a roll of their eyes, the girls went ahead. Pansy, Millie, and Tracey caught up to them before exiting the common room. 

The corridor was completely jam-packed. Students were scurrying around for their next classes, and they didn’t even make way for the Slytherin Purebloods like they usually did. The stink of sweaty children and feet was overpowering. This irked Hermione immensely. 

Millie bumped into a skinny-looking girl in a Hufflepuff tie. The girl stumbled backward as she tripped over a crack on the floor. Her books flew out of her bag, scattering around her in heaps of parchment and bindings. “Watch where you’re going!” Millie screamed at her. 

The Hufflepuff girl didn’t know who they were, evidently, because she answered back with a raised voice. “ _You_ bumped into _me_!”

“ _I beg your pardon_?” Millie said menacingly as she inched closer, towering over her. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey did the same. Hermione realized that she should also be intimidating the girl the way her friends were... so she straightened her back, lifted her chin, and looked down her nose on her.

“Who are you?” Asked Millie.

She stood and glared bravely, not bothering to gather the fallen contents of her bag. “Jen Wallace. Who are you?” She asked back.

Wallace was ignored. “She’s a _Mudblood_ , Mills.” Seethed Pansy.

By then, most of the students in the corridors walked more slowly around the girls to see what the commotion was about. Some students stopped fully and pointed at them.

“That explains the smell,” said Daphne.

“Listen, Mudblood.” Millie backed her into the wall, and the other girls trapped her in, cornering her. “You don’t belong here. You never will. You ought to know that. Or else...” Tears were pooling in the corner of Jen’s eyes, and her nose was reddening. Suddenly, she wasn’t so brave anymore.

Millie’s eyes turned into slits. “If you cross us again—hell if you so much as look in our direction, I’m going to make sure you get expelled.” She paused and stepped forward. Her face was hardly two inches from Wallace’s. “And if you don’t, I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

Before Wallace could reply, someone said loudly, “What’s going on here?” An older Hufflepuff girl shoved Hermione aside to get a better view of Wallace. She stumbled and almost fell, if not for Tracey’s hand on her arm. Wallace, who was cowering in fear, relaxed significantly. There were two other Hufflepuffs with the intruder, a girl, and a boy. Immediately, the crowd that started to gather around them thinned, with most of the students suddenly hurrying to go to class.

“Coming to rescue a Mudblood, Fawley?” Pansy asked. The Slytherins, however, didn’t back down, despite the fact that the Hufflepuffs were _clearly_ much older and stronger.

“Depends, Parkinson. Are you terrorizing Miss Wallace here that she might need rescuing?” She cocked her head to the side.

Fawley fixed her robes and light bounced off her yellow badge with a ‘P’ on it. The girls’ eyes caught onto the badge. She was a Prefect, and she made sure they all knew. “Spoken like a true blood-traitor.” Pansy spat. Hermione could tell that the two already knew each other. 

“I’m sorry,” said Fawley, “but are you _asking_ for me to tell Dumbledore about this little… _incident_?” She tapped her Prefect badge.

The Slytherins stared her down. Nobody moved for five seconds until Fawley smiled. “I thought so. Come on, Jen, or you’ll be late to class.” She extended a hand to Wallace and guided her out of the enclosure of Slytherin girls. She instructed the younger Hufflepuff, “Go tell Cedric and Maia where your next class is, they’ll escort you. I’ll have a quick word with the Slytherins for a moment.”

The three Hufflepuffs left. By then, the only people in the previously crowded hallway were Fawley, Pansy, Millie, Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione. The first-year girls glared at the Prefect, while she merely smirked at them.

“Let this be the first and last time I catch you all terrorizing a student. I know who you are: Parkinson, Bulstrode, Lestrange, Greengrass, and Davis. I’ve studied your family histories since I found out you were coming to Hogwarts. You all have instilled fear in so many students, but not me. If this happens again, I will not hesitate to have your lot expelled by next year. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. That was impossible. She couldn’t possibly have the power to expel five of the purest and most highly-esteemed girls in Hogwarts. Her lids narrowed into slits. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tracey’s hand twitch towards the pocket of her robes, where her wand was tucked in.

“Now run along, snakes. And don’t you _dare_ do it again.”

Fawley walked forward and passed in between Millie and Daphne, both of whom she bumped shoulders with. Hermione’s fists balled in anger. 

The Slytherins were already at the end of the hall when Fawley turned around and hollered at them again, “And twenty points will be docked from Slytherin. Each.”


	7. Saturn

On the twelfth of September, Hermione had been woken up early by Daphne. She greeted her “good morning”, and wiggled a silk pouch in front of Hermione’s face. She gave a sleepy, half-lidded smile. 

This was their daily routine. The five girls would wake each other up an hour earlier than other first-years and get ready for the day together. After getting up, Hermione took her own silk pouch in her trunk and followed after Daphne. Millie was already in the hallway, knocking on Pansy and Tracey’s door.

Hermione’s eyes almost bulged upon seeing Millie. She was nearly back to the plump figure that she had spelled away before school. She had somewhat noticed that her friend had gained a little bit of the weight back two days before, but today, it was definitely undeniable. She would need to touch up on those glamour charms this morning if she wanted to maintain the look. Though, to Hermione, there was really nothing wrong with Millie’s previous silhouette. 

The five young girls headed to the women’s lavatory.

“Look at me!” Millie gasped in horror at her figure in the mirror. “I’m fat again!”

“Just charm it away, Millie,” said Pansy, waving her wand in front of her face and making corrections to her jawline.

“I tried to yesterday... and the day before that. How come it’s not working anymore?” She took a piece of parchment from her silk pouch and read the spell aloud. “It’s the correct spell, isn’t it?”

They turned to Hermione, who inspected the parchment. “It is.” She decided. “Maybe you’re doing it wrong. Here, let me-”

“No, I can do it! I just need to know if what I’m doing is wrong. See look,” Millie brandished her want along her figure while reciting the spell carefully, but it hardly managed to reduce her belly.

“Nothing’s happening, Millie,” Tracey said, curling her blonde ringlets with a spell.

“ _Really_? Can’t tell! Thanks _so much_ for your input!” Millie bit back sarcastically. Tracey rolled her eyes and focused on her own wandwork.

“Why don’t you let me try,” said Hermione, lifting her wand to cast the spell.

“I said no!” Millie knocked her hand out of the way. “I can do it. I can.” She insisted.

Daphne raised a brow at Hermione knowingly. Hermione backed away with her hands in the air and walked to the other side of the room, standing in front of a mirror. Daphne followed behind her.

“Unbelievable isn’t she?” Asked Daphne, lifting her wand and charming her two front teeth to close the gap in between them.

“I know! It’s like she’s trying to prove a point.” Hermione’s voice raised in a half-whisper.

Daphne gave Hermione a look.

“What?”

“She _is_ trying to prove a point, dummy.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Daphne continued. “Remember the train ride? When Millie asked you about that potion in the bottle and you said it was just perfume?” Hermione nodded. “She was embarrassed.”

Hermione scoffed. “No way. Millie? Embarrassed? Don’t be daft, Daph.” Hermione laughed at her own alliteration lamely.

Daphne was not amused. “I’m serious, Hermione. She told Pansy that she wants to prove she’s a better witch than you. _Especially_ when it comes to glamour charms. She said she can’t bear the thought of a Lestrange looking prettier than her."

Hermione outright laughed. “You tell her,” she leaned in to whisper in Daphne’s ear. “Good luck with that.”

They giggled.

Hermione turned to her reflection and focused on charming her hair into cooperation. The frizzy strands that stood stubbornly on her head were successfully smoothed out to fall back into place. Hermione put her wand down and took a regular hairbrush, running it through her locks. She was pleased with the lack of tangles.

“I like your hair. It’s wavy and it’s got volume.”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks, Daph. I like your hair too. It doesn’t need extra charms to make it cooperate."

Daphne pouted. “I don’t. It’s plain and boring.”

“No it’s not,” said Hermione, turning sideways to face her friend. “Want me to charm it so it has more volume?”

“Yes please.”

Hermione took a section of her friend’s hair and thought about what spell to use. Daphne wanted more volume, the opposite of what Hermione wanted, so she decided to do her own hair’s charm’s counterspell. It was clever, but also Hermione had never done it before. She squashed her worries and waved her wand. It worked on the first try. 

Daphne was watching Hermione work on her hair from the mirror in awe. She took the finished locks of hair in her palms, fluffing them. After Daphne thanked Hermione when she had finished, Daphne resumed the charms on her own body, slimming her curves the way Millie couldn’t. However… Daphne wasn’t fat. Hermione didn’t understand why she needed to charm her body if she didn’t need it. 

She looked at herself in the mirror. Narcissa had given her an extensive list of glamour charms at her disposal, but Hermione refused to use them at all. She did the bare minimum, which was charming her hair to become more manageable. She felt uncomfortable with anything more. In her opinion, there was really nothing wrong with the way she looked. This way of thinking didn’t stem from some sort of self-praising vanity, either. Hermione preferred to look as she was meant to be.

The other girls were still busy trying to get their proportions right, so Hermione simply watched them. Pansy would always adjust her naturally broad jawline, Tracey would grow her hair lower on her head to achieve a smaller forehead, and Millie and Daphne always worked on their weight. Every morning, Hermione was always the first to finish. She would take two minutes in front of a mirror, and she was done for the day. The others, however, took as long as fifteen to twenty minutes. 

She was snapped out of her musings when Daphne randomly said, “D’ya think Malfoy’s out of his mind?”

Hermione snorted. “Most certainly.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I heard from Tracey, who heard from Millie, who heard from Theo, who heard from Goyle... that Malfoy challenged Harry Potter to a Wizard’s duel. Tonight.”

Hermione stilled for a second and shook her head disapprovingly. _A Wizard’s duel?_

Right after the girls finished their morning glamour charms, Hermione changed into her school robes and rushed from her dormitory and into the common room. Draco was nowhere to be found. She waited for him for a few minutes, but after impatiently tapping her foot on the floor, she stormed into the boys’ shared dormitory. She found him snickering with Crabbe and Goyle on the floor.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Draco Malfoy, you withdraw from that duel _at once_.” Hermione managed to say with clenched teeth. 

He looked up at her, his eyes crinkled in mirth. “Absolutely not!” he said, grinning. “I’m about to show that Potter who’s boss.”

“You could get hurt!” She stomped her foot.

Draco placed his hands on Crabbe’s and Goyle’s shoulders to steady him as he stood. He wasn’t much taller than Hermione, so she was able to frown at him while tilting her chin up. He goaded, “Why do you care if I get hurt?”

Hermione broke eye contact as she darted her eyes everywhere else. “I-I don’t.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I only care because you could lose us House points.” she congratulated herself silently for thinking on her feet. 

“Hm…” He smirked. “Is that right?”

Hermione nodded, meeting his eyes again.

Draco’s smirk grew larger. “So you don’t care if I get injured?”

She shook her head.

“If I get knocked out?”

“Nope.”

“And you still don’t care if Potter kills me?”

“Not at all.” She said stubbornly.

Draco chuckled and studied her face for a second. Crabbe and Goyle stood. Goyle said, “Jus’ tell ‘er, Malfoy.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “Tell me what?”

Crabbe answered her. “We’re not going to the duel.”

Hermione frowned. “What?” She looked at Draco, not trusting the other two. “What are they talking about?”

He laughed at the discombobulated expression on her face. “We’re not going to the duel. We’re only tricking them. I told them to be at the trophy room by midnight, and they agreed, the fools. So we tipped Filch off. While they get caught and punished, we’ll be snoring in our beds.” He explained almost lazily as if she’d been the tenth person he had to explain his plans to.

Hermione was quiet for a moment. She analyzed his statement in her head. Finally, she said, “So you _won’t_ be fighting?”

Draco smirked. “No.” He paused. “You can stop worrying about me now.” 

Inwardly, she was relieved. She really _was_ worried about him. She was also worried about how his parents would react to this. Narcissa would faint, probably, and Lucius… well, there was really no telling whether or not Lucius would be proud or appalled. 

Outwardly, she rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, storming out of his dormitory while irritatedly muttering, “You’re an absolute prat, Malfoy.” The three boys snickered behind her.

* * *

  
  


Hermione panted as she reached the top floor. She leaned against the wall for a minute, hoping to catch her breath. She closed her eyes before pushing herself from the wall and walking towards the rail. 

She was alone in the Astronomy Tower tonight. The cold wind whipped her face and painted her cheeks a bright pink. She didn’t dare cast a warming charm on herself because it was midnight and she was cautious not to get caught using magic as a first-year. Instead, she pulled her cloak a little closer to her body. 

She walked to the telescope and placed her Astronomy book on the ledge beside it. According to her textbook, Saturn will make a bright appearance tonight at one in the morning, and she was eager to see it. She had informed her roommates about it, and they were willing to come along... until they realized that it didn’t add any academic merit. Hermione was just going for sheer amusement and curiosity. They had all backed out.

It was now twelve-thirty, and Hermione realized that she still had a lot of time before seeing what she came here for. She sighed and leaned on the railing, gazing at the small white holes in the otherwise black sky.

The Andromeda constellation was easy to spot as its stars shone brightly against the dark. At that moment, Hermione remembered Narcissa. Andromeda was Narcissa’s sister… although sister was a very loose term for what the woman was because she had allegedly been banished from the Black family tree. Narcissa had told Hermione that all her family was named after stars, constellations, or galaxies. Draco himself was named after a constellation. 

Thinking of the Black family made her wonder about her own, particularly her parents, Margaux Avery and Rabastan Lestrange. Hermione didn’t know much about them outside of what people told her. Did they love each other? Were they married? Did Rabastan know he had a daughter before he died? Did he fight to stay alive for them? Did her mother grieve for him, or had she been too busy being dead? Hermione wanted answers. She always wanted answers, and she asked for them now. She looked at the night sky and silently talked to her parents. She asked why they’d abandoned her. She didn’t understand why she had to be this way—an orphan. If Narcissa hadn’t taken her in when she was younger, Hermione didn’t know where she’d be. Her house-elf would have had to raise her single-handedly. 

Come to think of it, Hermione had actually already _forgotten_ her house-elf’s name. She could memorize complicated procedures for potions and sophisticated spells in different languages easily enough, but could not, for the life of her, remember the name of the house-elf responsible for keeping her alive in her first five years of life. Hermione found this odd. She would never forget such valuable information such as this. She closed her eyes and bowed her head to think, but… nothing. She could not remember.

Narcissa would, however. Hermione was sure of it. She’ll have to ask her the next time she wrote to her. In fact, she would ask her the very next day. 

The metal body of the telescope felt cold as Hermione brought it to her eye. She double-checked the supposed position that Saturn would be in tonight… but alas, nothing was there yet. She checked her watch. ‘12:39’, it read. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Just then, Hermione heard the sound of shuffling feet behind her. 

She panicked, looking for a potential hiding spot. However, the Astronomy Tower was designed for a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the sky, so there were no alcoves or furniture that she could hide behind. Hermione’s face turned bone-white. In that instant, she knew exactly what it felt like to be caught in the act of a crime. She braced herself for whoever it would be. Filch, quite possibly, or perhaps Professor McGonagall. She couldn’t admit being here for nothing. She couldn’t do that to Slytherin’s House points. Instead, she would pretend that she was sleepwalking and didn’t know where she was going.

Were they going to believe her? She supposed not.

Suddenly, a small figure appeared from the shadows. She was about Hermione’s height and she had hair the color of snow and bright blue eyes. From the look of her, she was a student as well. She sighed in relief. 

The unfazed girl continued walking. Hermione was used to people avoiding her and steering clear whenever they would see any of her friends, so she was startled as the other girl barely even glanced at her as she walked towards the ledge, where Hermione was.

“Have you seen a pair of shoes?” She asked in a feathery, almost wistful voice.

Hermione raised a brow. She looked familiar. Tracey and Millie might have talked about her once in passing… but if she was to be completely honest, they talked about everybody behind their backs all the time that it was difficult to keep track.

The girl smiled at her, and she looked almost dazed. Hermione stepped back. “Sorry, but I haven’t.” She said.

The blonde’s expression did not change. “Oh. That’s too bad.” She said. “I can’t find my shoes, you see.” She gestured to her feet and Hermione’s eyes followed. She was, in fact, barefoot. “I suspect the nargles are behind it."

Loony Lovegood, that was her name. Hermione remembered now. Tracey was talking about how Loony Lovegood was entirely bonkers on a good day, and awfully deranged on a bad one. The girl was completely lost and in her own world. Hermione saw it now as Loony gazed at Hermione in a dream-like state.

Loony said, “My... you’ve got a load of zootles following you around. I’d watch out for Japanese coins if I were you.”

Hermione found herself distraught by the lack of recognition from this girl. Didn’t she know that Hermione was a Lestrange and possibly even more psychotic than she was? She fought the urge to ask her what exactly zootles were and why she should watch out for foreign currency but stopped herself. The faster the conversation was over, the better.

“Right,” Hermione simply said.

Loony turned from her and started walking away. Soon, her footsteps descended down the stairwell and Hermione was alone again.

She took her textbook and stepped away from the telescope, hiding beside the entrance so she wouldn’t be in the direct line of vision of whoever would come upstairs next. With her back to the wall, Hermione slid down and crossed her legs. She began to read her Astronomy book.

A few minutes too soon, Hermione felt like there were weights sitting on her eyelids. Her mind and body had been very active and energy-filled the whole day, and they were now begging for sleep. The words on the pages she was reading constantly blurred in and out of focus. She closed her eyes to rest them for ten seconds. 

_One, two…_

_Three_ … 

_Four…_

Hermione lost count after four and she did not feel herself drifting to sleep.

Hermione was woken by someone else’s laughter. 

Her head snapped up so quickly, it hit the stone wall behind her. She reached behind her to soothe the ache. There was a figure in front of her, laughing at her expense. She rubbed the sore some more. As she looked up, she caught a glimpse of another blond... however it wasn’t Loony. This time, this person’s hair was slicked-back and cropped shorter.

Relief flooded her like a bursting dam.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I could ask you the same question.” She rubbed her eyes and stood, taking her book with her.

He walked slowly towards her with his hands behind his back. Hermione could tell that he was hiding something in them. “Well, I asked first.”

“Well, I’m not telling you.” She mocked.

“Oh in that case, neither am I.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m here because according to ‘Astronomy for First Years’, Saturn would be fully visible tonight, and I wanted to see it—and before you ask, no, it’s not a requirement.” Hermione got defensive at his smirk. “I just want to see another planet, okay? Stop making fun of me.” She turned to the sky and braced herself for whatever insult he would throw at her.

“I’m not making fun of you,” said Draco. He placed something in front of her next to her textbook, revealing what had been hidden behind his back. It was his own copy of the Astronomy textbook. “I'm here for that, too.”

“Oh.” She blushed. She didn’t know that his pursuit of knowledge was extended beyond classrooms and test papers.

Draco sauntered to the telescope near the ledge and looked around the sky for the planet’s position. He pointed it to the same spot Hermione had a few minutes before and said, “It’s nearly here. Ten minutes, give or take.”

Hermione stood next to him and gazed at the sky again, taking note of the Andromeda. She looked around and tried spotting other constellations. She found Leo the lion, and within that, the star named Regulus. She craned her neck to look for…

There, she found it. Bellatrix. It wasn’t a constellation, but a star in the Orion. 

Truth be told, Hermione did not want to meet Bellatrix Lestrange. She knew that as soon as she was released from Azkaban, Hermione would legally be under her care, as this was her agreement with Narcissa. She did not look forward to it. Bellatrix was notorious for merciless torture.

For the second time that night, she wished she had parents—a mother and a father who wouldn’t die before she learned their faces. If she did, she wouldn’t have to worry about being passed around to be taken care of like a lost puppy. She loved Narcissa, she really did, but the woman wasn’t her mother. She never will be. Narcissa had only taken her in as per Bellatrix’s request. The second she was released from Azkaban, Hermione was to be shipped off again to a different owner. 

“You’re looking sad. What are you thinking of?” Draco snapped her out of her daydreams.

“Nothing, it’s just…” She sighed. “My parents.”

Draco nodded, understanding immediately. Hermione never talked about her parents. When he had tried to ask her about them a few years back, she got defensive and claimed to know nothing so he should stop asking. After that, he decided that it was a sore subject for her, and he never asked. Until tonight.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She frowned. Draco looked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to be subtle. “There’s not much to talk about though, is there? I mean… they’re dead. That’s it. That’s the whole story.” She said, fidgeting with her own fingers.

He stayed silent. This conversation made Draco feel like he was walking on eggshells. He let her speak, knowing that there was something about the night or the empty Astronomy Tower that made her feel like it was safer to divulge her worries. “One day I think I want to visit them, my parents. See where they’re buried… maybe I’ll even go back to France. When I’m old enough I might go back home and manage my mother’s estate.”

Draco did not know why but the thought of her leaving made him feel very unhappy.

“Why don’t you…” Draco said tentatively. “Try to visit first before deciding to stay?”

Hermione laughed bitterly, darkly, although there was nothing funny about Draco’s suggestion. “I already asked your mother if I could,” she said, gazing at the stars. After a while, she shook her head. “She said no. Apparently, my parents have loads of angry enemies. She told me I shouldn’t risk going, else someone recognizes me. Said it’s still too dangerous.”

“Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should just... stay.”

Hermione was silent, trying not to think too much about what he suggested. 

On the other hand, Draco was internally cringing at himself for asking her to stay. He mentally slapped himself. Hermione might have taken it the wrong way, and her silence did nothing to squash his panic. He studied his hands on the ledge instead. Down below, he caught a figure of a man walking along the grounds, and a smaller figure trailing behind him. Filch and Mrs. Norris. He focused on them instead of the girl next to him.

Suddenly, she wasn’t next to him anymore. He subtly glanced to the side and found her behind the telescope with her hand cupped around her eye and the metal eyepiece. He checked the time. It was exactly one in the morning.

“See anything?”

“I’m trying to navig-” She broke off. “There! I see it!”

“You do? Let me try!”

“It’s right there, and it’s massive, too! Woah, it’s got rings and everything!” She exclaimed, giving him space to see for himself. 

That was the first night Draco and Hermione stayed up late in the Astronomy Tower. Many years later, they will remember this night as the night that their little tradition began. The Astronomy Tower will become their haven, where the two of them will learn to be exposed and trust one another without being judged. This will be their safe space.

Little did they know, this is also the very spot where horrible, hurtful things will happen.

* * *

February 22, 1992

They had taken their final exam for History of Magic the week before. Today, Professor Binns was giving them back. He was the type of teacher to announce the top marks in a test before giving the rest away. 

“In third with ninety-six percent…” He squinted his eyes to read the name at the top of the paper. “Scadfell, Scarlett.” Everyone clapped sparingly around the room, except Hermione and her roommates. They applauded and cheered for her enthusiastically. The girls had expected Scarlett to ace the exam, especially because she had been studying it day and night. Scarlett’s face turned scarlet as she received her test paper.

“In second with ninety-eight percent… Malfoy, Draco.” Gasps were heard around the room, and Hermione guessed why. Draco was the most aggressively academic student in Slytherin. Everyone expected him to take first place… except for their group of friends, who knew exactly who had gotten the first place spot. Draco took his test paper from Binns with a shrug, and he sank back to his seat, looking bored. 

“And in first, with a whopping _one hundred percent_ —I couldn’t believe my eyes either, I had to triple check—is Lestrange, Hermione!” 

The room was in an uproar as other Slytherins failed to accept this. Confused and suspicious looks were aimed at Hermione from every corner of the classroom. Her cheeks turned hot as she stood from her seat and accepted her paper from Professor Binns. Above her name, there was an encircled ‘100’ next to a star in red ink.

“...unbelievable…”

“...Lestrange? Slap me, Sally, I must be dreaming...”

“...is Binns the type to joke…?”

“...but all she does is do glamour charms in the loo…”

“...must’ve cheated off of Malfoy…”

Narcissa was right. The students did underestimate Hermione. All except her friends. Theo gave her a rather harsh pat on the back as he told her he was proud. He claimed her achievement as his own as he bragged to everybody that he was tutoring her all along. Nobody believed him, of course, but they laughed along anyway. Goyle and Daphne cheered the loudest, which Hermione found a little odd because she and Goyle were never really close. Even Draco reached out from a table behind her to ruffle her hair. Hermione reckoned that he wouldn’t have been too happy to be placed in second if the first placer was anyone other than Hermione. He was used to this. It had been this way since they were five. 

Hermione looked around the classroom with a mischievous smirk. It felt great to astonish a large number of people, including her professor. The whole term, she had refrained from raising her hand and answering questions, unless nobody else did. She could count the number of times she actually recited on one hand. Hell, _Millie_ spoke more than she did… even if her answers were erroneous more often than not. 

She knew that come next year, people would see through the dumb-girl façade she put up for herself. They would be more cautious to brush her away and think of her as brainless… and she was okay with that. What was important to her was that now, they would think twice before disparaging her and her friends. Next year, she will no longer hold herself back from answering teachers’ questions, now that she accomplished her goal of showing everyone what exactly would happen when they underestimated her. 

On the same day, there was a Quidditch game between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Hermione opted to sit it out because she cared very little for the sport, and even much less when her House was not involved. She was in the library, studying for her second year of school. An hour ago, she had received her report card—outstanding marks in every subject. She was very pleased with herself, and her friends were unsurprised. She decided to get a head-start on her second-year lessons because they still had a few days of the school year left, and there was nothing better to do. Some quality time in the library beat screaming on the Quidditch stands any day.

Her nose had been buried deep in a Transfiguration book when in rushed Daphne and Theo, both of which were short of breath and frazzled.

“Hermione! Hermione, you have to come,” said Daphne.

“What’s going on?” She said, beginning to feel worried. She closed her book and stood from her seat, hurriedly packing up.

“It’s Malfoy,” said Theo. 

That was all the explanation Hermione needed. She bolted out of her seat, taking her book bag with her, but not bothering to place the borrowed books back on the shelves.

Hermione followed Daphne and Theo down to the first floor and out towards the Quidditch stands. The game was long over, so most of the people had already gone. The only students left were a clutter of Slytherin students huddled around Draco’s lying body. 

Hermione ran.

“What’s happened?” She shoved her way to the front of the crowd. There was an angry purple bruise on Draco’s left eye. 

“Weasel-bee punched him, the git!” Exclaimed Pansy. “Crabbe and Goyle took Longbottom down pretty easy, but Malfoy was too stupid and forgot to block his face.”

“Someone get Madam Pomfrey!” Said Hermione to no one in particular. She studied Draco’s face and pulled out her wand.

“Zabini already went.” She didn’t catch whoever said the comment, as she was too busy assessing the damage. It wasn’t horrible. She reckoned she could heal his black eye easily with one or two charms that Narcissa had provided her with. 

She positioned her wand over his face, but it was knocked out of her grip by an older Slytherin. “What are you doing? You can’t heal him, you’re only a first-year!”

“Yes, I can, I’ve healed bruises before!” She exploded back. Other people backed Hermione up. 

Theo said, “This is Hermione Lestrange we’re talking about. If anyone can heal him it’s her!”

“We should just wait for Madam Pomfrey,” said the older boy.

“Yeah? Where is she? I sure don’t see her!”

“She’ll be here in a while, just wait for her!”

Goyle said, “Why don’t you wait for her over there and get out of Lestrange’s way!”

In the hubbub of shouting people, one sound stood out. A soft groan from below her. She looked down and saw that Draco was gaining consciousness. “‘Mione…” he groaned.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay, Draco—don’t do that, don’t open your eye or it’ll swell.”

Someone handed Hermione her wand. She ignored the other kids’ protests and focused on her wandwork. With quick precision and expertise, she vanished his bruise with a flick of her wrist. Soon, Draco’s coloring looked back to normal. He opened his eyes fully and looked up at everyone. 

“You okay, mate?” Asked Theo.

Draco merely nodded and moved to touch the previously blackened eye. Hermione slapped his hand and said, “No touching. Allow it to heal.” Draco smirked at her bossiness.

He muttered so lowly that nobody else but Hermione could hear, “You _do_ care about me.”

“Shut up.” She said equally as lowly.

As soon as Draco sat up, the other Slytherins slowly dispersed and went their own ways. Soon, there were only fifteen people left.

Blaise and Madam Pomfrey arrived ten minutes after Hermione healed Draco. Despite his protests, Madam Pomfrey did not allow him to go freely, but she claimed she still had to further examine him in the Hospital Wing. He was completely back to normal an hour later.

* * *

The school year came to a close in June, and it ended on a high note. Slytherin had won the Quidditch cup along with the House cup for the seventh year in a row. It was the first time Hermione had seen her Housemates in such a delightful mood, for they were a sullen and apathetic lot most of the time.

As students in green cheered, Hermione’s little friend group gave high fives, hugs, and fist bumps to each other. Goyle had shaken Hermione’s hand a little bit too long, and she had to awkwardly pry his fingers off of hers before he blushed.

Draco’s elated eyes found Hermione’s at the end of the table and they ran, coming together in a tight hug, swaying side to side. They laughed as they pulled apart. They would be spending the summer holidays together, as they lived on the same grounds. 

Days later, they traveled to King’s Cross to be picked up by their respective families. The ten friends parted happily with promises of letters and picnic parties. Hermione reminded everyone to study ahead so as not to fall back on the school lessons, and likewise, Theo reminded everyone not to take Hermione too seriously. She hit his shoulder but was too amused to be cross with him.

That was the end of the first year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I just wanna let you know that updates might be a little slower now bc my professor recently gave us a shit ton of work load (even if she had like 3 months to tell us bc of quarantine im okay im rlly okay :)))) ) and it's due soon so i gotta prioritize that :( i'll still be updating though! it'll just be a little slower but don't worry bout it too much! oki bye love u!


	8. September 19th

September 18, 1992

**_SECOND YEAR_ **

Hermione walked to class with Pansy, Tracey, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. They had two periods of Potions with Snape today, and the lunch hour was about to end. Coming from the Great Hall, Hermione decided to go to class extra early. Her friends didn’t have anything better to do, so they came along as well. The six of them were the first people inside. Hermione, Pansy, and Tracey sat together somewhere in the middle, and the boys sat directly behind them.

“‘Mione, isn’t it your birthday tomorrow?” Tracey asked out of the blue.

Hermione blushed. She had hoped nobody would point it out. She didn’t want any fuss to be made, and she wanted other people’s attention even less. 

“Yeah, September nineteenth!” Exclaimed Crabbe cheerily. “You’ll be thirteen, won’t you?” Students from Gryffindor and a couple from Slytherin started entering the classroom, and Hermione put a finger in front of her lips to shush her friends.

Hermione sighed. She half-whispered, “Yes, but please don’t make a fuss. I really don’t want other people to know. Let’s keep it among us, yeah?”

They then started talking about the Quidditch trials on the day after Hermione’s birthday. Draco, Pansy, and Theo were dead-set on entering. The three of them had trained all summer long in the Manor’s expansive fields while Hermione was content to watch them from the ground, a book propped open on her lap. Draco’s father had even bought them top-of-the-line broomsticks. He had bought ten extras, just in case. In case of what? Hermione didn’t know. 

Five minutes later, a cry of surprise was heard from somewhere towards the back of the room. They all turned their heads to see what was happening, and they were just in time to catch sight of Ron Weasley falling forward and scattering his parchment and ink on the floor. Theo and Blaise were behind them, sporting mischievous smirks.

Hermione’s friends erupted in boisterous laughter, and she herself cracked a small smile. “Oops,” said Theo, feigning shock.

The boys made their way towards the other Slytherins. Draco gave them each high fives. Blaise said, “D’ya see his face?”

“Priceless, mate!” Laughed Goyle, banging on the table.

“Why’d he trip, what happened?” Pansy asked eagerly.

“The twat was walking too slow, so I gave him a little nudge,” Theo said.

Theo received several pats on the back and a muttered ‘should've pushed him harder, mate’, when someone from the Gryffindor side of the room demanded, “what’s so funny?”

The whole room went quiet. It was Harry Potter. He was standing in front of the Slytherin’s tables with his arms crossed and a glower on his face.

Nobody in the Slytherin tables was brave enough to answer, or so Hermione thought. After a while, Draco stood, looking Potter in the eye. He said, “wanna know what’s funny, Potter?” He paused, pointing at the red-haired boy across the room. “That freckled ginger _git_ of an oaf is funny.”

The green-clad students sniggered. Draco continued louder, “Weasel-bee belongs on the ground, don’t you think?”

“Or the streets, more like,” muttered Pansy with a scoff.

“Filthy blood-traitors like him ought to know his place.” Draco provoked.

“You take that back, Malfoy!” Potter’s face was reddening exponentially as his anger rose. His balled fists, however, were bone-white.

Draco gave him a taunting, evil smile and slowly said, “No, I don’t think I will.”

Potter charged forward, knocking into Draco. Hermione gasped at the blatant display of brute force by the golden boy, Harry Potter himself. She wanted to pull them apart or stop them somehow, but she was unable to because of shock and worry for the blond boy. The two of them stumbled back into the table. Theo and Blaise—whose books and quills were on the same table—knocked their things out of the way. Draco’s back collided with the wooden surface loudly. Hermione was grateful for Blaise and Theo’s quick thinking on their part. Otherwise, Draco would have landed on spiky quills and metal book bindings. 

Potter recoiled his arm to throw a punch when a voice interrupted them.

“What… is going on?” Professor Snape drawled from the entrance.

The two boys broke apart immediately. Draco straightened up and explained angrily, “Potter attacked me, Professor! You saw it!”

Snape took his time walking towards the boys. Finally, he said, “Yes. It appears so. Do you have anything to say for yourself, boy?”

Potter stuttered. “P-professor, I-I…”

“None, then. Thirty points will be taken from Gryffindor for Mister Potter’s actions.” Professor Snape turned his back on them, walking to the front. Draco smiled evilly at the Gryffindors.

“I was only defending Ron, Sir!”

Snape whipped his head back at him. “You _dare_ raise your voice at me?”

The Gryffindors held their breath and anticipated another attack on their House points.

Potter looked at his feet, fidgeting with his hands behind his back. “I apologize, professor.”

“Thirty more points from Gryffindor for your cheek.” He paused. “And a week’s worth of detention. See me after class.”

The boy made his way back to his seat with his head down. Other Gryffindors couldn’t help but glare at Draco and his friends as they shared victorious sneers. 

Snape began his lessons, and Hermione took a roll of parchment with her ink to write notes. Professor talked a little about the previous brewing techniques and the reasoning behind them. Hermione diligently wrote down every single detail until her right wrist begged her to stop. She switched to her left hand. 

Hermione had developed the ambidextrous skill over the summer. She realized that both her hands were equally as adept when playing the piano, and she wanted to try and channel it when writing. Now, she wrote almost as flawlessly with her left hand as she did with her right. She had also practiced casting spells with her non-dominant hand as well, and they did work, but with much difficulty, still. She needed to improve. 

Pansy noticed this when their elbows bumped on the table as they both wrote notes. “Aren’t you right-handed?”

Hermione nodded absently, half-listening to Snape.

“Unbelievable. Trace, come look at this.” She paused. Hermione paid no attention to them as she scrawled rapidly. Pansy said to Tracey, “She can write with _both_ hands now.”

Tracey chuckled. “Classic Hermione.”

Pansy replied with, “Truly a Psycho.”

Hermione chuckled softly. The word no longer contained the acidity it had when they were children… at least not with her friends. She still completely and absolutely _loathed_ being called a Psycho by the people she wasn’t close to, but her friends sometimes referred to her like this, and she was never offended anymore. She knew they all meant it in good fun. Even Millie, now. As far as Hermione was concerned, she herself hadn’t exhibited any form of psychotic behavior that Lestranges were infamously known for, and for that, she was thankful. 

“Today, you will partner up to brew the Sleeping Draught,” Snape said. At that, students looked around and made eye-contact with their closest friends. Pansy and Tracey were already giving each other knowing looks, so there was no hope for Hermione there. Daphne was absent, as she had been feeling under the weather lately, and decided to sleep in for the day. She checked behind her, at the table of boys, and found Draco already looking at her. 

He smiled and raised his brows, asking permission. Hermione returned the smile and nodded. She saw that Crabbe and Goyle were paired up, and so were Blaise and Theo.

However, Snape said, “You will _not_ be choosing your own partners. You will all be randomly selected with a member from a different House.” Groans were heard across the room as Snape waved his wand. He added, “This assignment is due in two weeks. The pair that makes the best brew will be given five extra points in the quiz on this topic.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Yes, blame Minerva for imposing her little House unity schemes upon us.”

On the chalkboard, everybody’s names appeared. There were two columns for the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Each pair was connected by a dash. Hermione heard Draco groan behind her in complaint as he saw his name paired with a random Gryffindor.

_Malfoy — Brown_

Hermione grimaced. She had sincerely hoped to be paired up with Draco for this assignment. Not that she was incompetent; she was definitely brilliant and capable of finishing it with somebody else, but there was no denying that her shared assignment with Draco would have topped the ranks and gotten incomparable, outstanding results.

She turned to the board and searched for her name...

_Lestrange — Potter_

“Oh no,” she whined, burying her face in her hands. After composing herself, she sneaked a glance towards the Gryffindors. Potter was still red in the face, glaring at his table. His quill was tightly gripped in his right hand, where it was bound to snap into two if he didn’t release his hold on it soon.

“Crap, Lestrange’s got Potter!” Tracey said from beside Pansy.

“Hex him for me, will you?” Draco asked.

“Good luck,” said Blaise. “You’ll need it, doll.”

Snape instructed the class to sit next to their partners and use the remaining hour and a half to discuss how to brew the Sleeping Draught and to delegate tasks. 

Students reluctantly started standing and moving to sit next to their partners. She saw that Blaise was with Seamus Finnigan, Tracey was with Neville Longbottom, and Crabbe was with Fay Dunbar. Hermione didn’t look around much when she saw that Potter hadn’t moved an inch from his position when she last saw him. 

If he expected her to be the one to adjust, he was sorely mistaken. 

Five minutes later: “Psst, Hermione! Where’s your partner?”

Hermione sighed irritatedly and answered Draco, “Can’t tell. Do you reckon he’s in the loo?” From the corner of her eye, she spotted Potter darkly glaring at her. She paid him no mind. 

She started to list down all the necessary ingredients and how to procure them in four days at the latest. She did all this without a glance at her supposed partner across the room.

After half an hour, Hermione ran out of things to occupy herself with. She had written detailed instructions for the Sleeping Draught, a list of the ingredients and their functions in the potion, a timetable for when they were to collect said ingredients and brew them, and four contingency plans in case something went wrong. She had written two copies of everything. Her desk was overflowing with parchment, and her inkwell was nearly dried up… still, Potter did not approach her. Neither did she. 

Hermione accepted that her partner was a hard-headed Gryffindor. She thought of dropping the extra copies of her plans on his desk and leaving without a word when class was over. _Yes, that’ll have to do_ , she thought.

She looked at the clock. An hour to go. 

_Might as well use the time to my advantage,_ Hermione thought. She opened her textbook and reread the chapter after Sleeping Draughts—Essence of Dittany. She had already studied this at least four times, so Hermione played a silent game with herself where she tried to guess the next word in the book straight from memory. 

Just before time was up, someone plopped noisily into the chair next to hers. Without looking away, she deduced that it was Potter from the way he slammed his book bag onto the table. She smirked inwardly. 

_I win_ , her inside voice said. Her outside voice said, “Nice of you to finally join me. I thought it was never going to happen.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Harry Potter grumbled. 

Hermione gathered the loose sheets of parchment and pushed them to his side of the table. Without looking at him she said, “You missed the planning stage. Now all that’s left is the execution. Those papers contain everything you need to know.”

He did not even touch the papers. He barely even glanced. “Absolutely not.”

“Excuse me?” She demanded, finally making eye contact.

“I said ‘absolutely not’.” Hermione opened her mouth to tell him where exactly he can stick his opinion but he interrupted her. “I’m not going to follow you blindly just because you’re at the top of our year."

She raised an eyebrow.“You do know that I’m going to give us perfect marks, right?”

“I don’t give a damn. This is my assignment, too. I should have a say in what goes on.” He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. In Hermione’s opinion, he was acting very childishly by refusing to do what was best for their grades just to prove a lousy point. 

They stared each other down.

After thirty seconds, Hermione made a move that she would come to regret in two weeks’ time. She pointed her wand at the stack of perfect plans and incinerated them, leaving behind charred ashes. She vanished the ashes, as well. It didn’t bother her as much as it should have, mostly because she had already memorized all the plans after copying them down twice. Potter’s face satisfyingly grew astounded at her actions.

“Fine.” She said.

“Fine.” He echoed. “Let’s get started, then.” Potter stood from his seat to procure his supplies from a cabinet at the back of the room, but Hermione stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m… getting the ingredients.” He told her as if she were a child to explain so simply. 

“Do you mean to work on it _right now_?”

“Why not? Everyone else is.” He gestured to their surroundings. He was partially right. The other students were already taking ingredients and preheating their cauldrons. There were a few who did not start right away. Draco was one of them, and Hermione knew why.

“Are you stupid? Why do you think Professor Snape gave us two weeks if the potion’s _that_ easy to make?” She answered her own question after a stretch of silence from him. “Because we’re supposed to gather the ingredients ourselves at the best possible moments.” She paused. “If you had only spared a few seconds of your _precious_ time to read my plans, you would have realized that the two of us are scheduled to go to Hagrid’s garden to harvest valerian sprigs at nine tomorrow for maximum moisture!” She said in one breath.

Hermione had not realized that their private conversation was no longer so. Towards the beginning, people around them started listening in, but by the time Hermione’s speech was finished, the whole class was staring at them. Snape looked nothing short of amused.

She turned around, her eyes scaring any potential gawkers. They looked away.

Potter saw this and merely rolled his eyes. “The sooner we’re done with this, the better.” He said in a lower voice.

“No.” Said Hermione with conviction. “You are not jeopardizing my grades because of your pettiness. We are no longer children, Potter. Act like it.” She half-whispered. “Besides… there’s only five minutes left.”

He huffed and seemed to be considering his options. "Should've led with that instead of going on a whole rant," Potter said. Finally, he sat back down on the chair and said. “So now what?”

Hermione raised her chin haughtily. “You tell me. You’re the one who didn’t agree to my plans.”

Potter nodded. “Alright, so... let’s plan. What are the ingredients of a Sleeping Draught?”

She studied her nails and answered after a moment. “I don’t feel like planning right now.”

“Are you serious?” He deadpanned. 

“I’m much too angry with you to cooperate, Potter. So yes, I am serious.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, not facing the other, when Snape decided to dismiss the class right on time. Hermione was thankful. She didn’t know whether she could stand another moment alone with this boy.

As she gathered her things and stood, she told him, “Meet me in the library tomorrow after dinner. We’ll talk there.”

“Spectacular.” He said sarcastically, accompanied with a roll of his eyes.

“Perfect.” She retorted.

“Wonderful.”

“Grand.”

“Excellent.”

Potter stood begrudgingly as Professor Snape called him forward to discuss his punishment.

Hermione wasn’t worried. She was a Slytherin. She was cunning, ambitious, and she knew exactly how to get what she wanted from him. Tomorrow, in the library, she _will_ make him relent to her plans without him knowing it. She would not give up.

* * *

  
  


Hermione wanted to give up.

Her fists were balled in her hair, gripping them by the roots. There were crumpled and discarded pieces of parchment atop the table, and her unfocused eyes gazed unseeingly at all the plans they’d represented—destroyed and squashed by Harry Potter, who was seated smugly in front of her. 

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Potter’s red-haired best friend had taken the chair next to him at their table, regarding Hermione with a suspicious look. 

Weasley had been paired with Anya Mozorov. Nobody could deny the girl’s charm and sweetness, but she only had a twelfth of Hermione’s intelligence. Because of this, she didn’t know the best way to brew a Sleeping Draught. Both Weasley and Anya hadn’t known better, finishing their potion before class ended, just like the majority of the students. The ginger didn’t understand the need for special instructions such as the one Hermione had been suggesting. The adequate result he had gotten was his standard. Weasley played the devil’s advocate the whole time.

She wanted to explode. 

For the past hour, Hermione had been trying ways to get what she wanted without compromise. She had proposed several ideas and packaged them in such a way that they would appeal to him at first… but he saw right through all of them. As soon as Hermione had him in her clutches, however, Weasley convinced Potter that her idea was full of crap. All her tactics had run out.

Now, it was she who was compromised. There really was no other option other than to meet halfway. She had explained that his plans would flunk them both, and hers would give them stellar marks, but he still disagreed. It suddenly occurred to her that Potter didn’t actually want to get the highest marks, which was completely unacceptable to Hermione. He just wanted everything to be done in the most natural and practical way possible.

Hermione did not know what it felt like to fail, but she had a feeling she was about to find out.

Nothing was to be done to move him, however. Harry Potter was as stubborn as they made them. After internally scolding herself for the decision she was about to make, she finally relented with a forced ' _fine_ ’ from her clenched teeth. A triumphant smile painted his spectacle-framed face.

Potter pumped his fists in the air, victorious.

“I feel as though…” Hermione started when he calmed down. “You’re only doing this to spite me.”

Potter gave her a look but said nothing.

“Because who in the right mind would turn down a perfectly good plan?” She questioned. “There’s really no other explanation other than the fact that you’re doing this to get back at me and my friends.”

“Lestrange, your methods are impossible!” Potter threw his hands up. “Did you expect me to agree to something that required me to wake up at three in the morning and pull flobberworms out of the mud?” He and Weasley laughed.

She reddened. “Okay, fine, yes, maybe that was a little extreme. I could have adjusted it to five instead of three... but I still can’t help thinking that you’re only doing this just because.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

After a while, he admitted, “Maybe you’re right.” 

She groaned. “I knew it.” She paused. “Look, I understand that you’ve got this grudge against my friends… but I have never done anything to you, and you can’t deny that. So don’t take your anger out on this Potions assignment because it's only going to backfire on you.”

Weasley interjected, “He can’t help it. You're one of _them_.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She challenged the ginger.

He gestured to her. “You-you’re a bully!” Someone from a different table shushed him. He lowered his voice. “You and your lot! You do nothing but torment others.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What you’re doing, Weasley, is you’re generalizing us. You’re assuming that I take part in the aforementioned _‘bullying’_ ”—she gestured with finger-quotes in the air—“without confirming whether or not I actually do.”

She paused, gathering her wits. Vulnerable was something she was not, especially when she wasn’t around her friends. Hermione was worried to be overheard by someone and have her struggles publicized across the student body. 

The two boys watched her. She continued. “You don’t understand that I’m trying so hard to remain neutral. So quit assuming that my friends and I are all the same.”

Weasley leaned in on the table, menacingly whispering, “What makes you think you’re better than the lot of them? Hmm? Last I checked, neutral isn’t good enough.”

“I beg your pardon?” She half-yelled. Hermione was appalled. She had bared her feelings to two mere strangers, and this was his reaction? It was her birthday for Merlin’s sake!

“It doesn’t mean _shite_. What is it people say? Something like 'neutrality sides with the oppressor.'”

Shocked would be an understatement. Hermione was offended, astounded, and aghast, all at the same time. She warred with herself inwardly, trying to look for a way to defend her honor... but there was none. Weasley was right. Weasley, who had not seen marks higher than a mere ‘pass’ had schooled her, and he schooled her well.

It did not make her better than her friends, remaining to be neutral. She did nothing to alleviate the harassment that her friends were afflicting onto people who didn’t deserve it. She was every bit as responsible for all the pain their victims had undergone.

Potter snapped her out of her stunned episode. “Right so… I’ll see you tomorrow at five in the morning, then, Lestrange?”

“I-I suppose,” she stammered.

“Great,” he said with false enthusiasm. He stood, gathering his parchment. Weasley still hadn’t moved. He was watching her blank expression with interest. Potter called, “Ron?”

Finally, he stood, following his friend out of the library. Hermione was left alone. 

She left the library after putting books back on their shelves, deciding to take the long way to her dormitory. She didn’t hold her head high like she usually did when she walked alone. Instead, her eyes were glazed over, barely taking in her surroundings. There weren’t many students she crossed paths with, but when there were, they stared. Normally, Hermione would have stared back to get them to look away, but she honestly didn’t care.

She was shaken.

Weasley’s words haunted her even as she entered the common room. However, the minute she crossed the threshold, her friends surprised her with muffins, candies, and treats smuggled from the Great Hall. They celebrated her birthday by having a mini-party in the common room, just the ten of them. Nobody noticed that anything was amiss with Hermione… or so she thought. 

Around the time her friends started getting sleepy, she decided that it was a good time for them to retreat back into their dormitories. After all, she wasn’t in the mood for staying up late and making fun of her peers. Everybody started departing right after, all but Draco. 

He sat next to her on the settee once they were gone. “Alright. What’s wrong?”

She avoided his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would you think that?”

“Come on, Lestrange, you know I see right through you. Now, out with it.”

“I’m telling you, Malfoy, there’s nothing wrong.”

He gave her a look and said, “Right, let’s see. You were zoning out most of the time, you didn’t throw a fit over us stealing from the Great Hall, you didn’t realize that Goyle was making eyes at you, you didn’t correct Millie when she dangled a participle, and… what was that… you specifically told us not to make a fuss over your birthday, yet here you are—not a single word in protest.” He counted on his fingers. “It sounds to me like something’s definitely wrong.”

She sighed. He did see through her. “I’m just exhausted from planning the Potions assignment. That’s all.”

He furrowed his brows. “Did _Potter_ say something to you? Because I swear I’ll—”

“No, he didn’t. He was… tolerable.” she interrupted, standing from the leather couch. Hermione was starting to get irritated at his prying. “Really, there’s nothing wrong.”

Draco gave her a disbelieving look. “I—”

“Draco.” She said. “Drop it… please?”

He stood and looked at her, studying her face. Draco realized that whatever was monopolizing her thoughts wouldn’t be known to him… at least not right now. Still, he was determined to find out soon. Judging from the way she rubbed her eyes and yawned, it was high time for some much-needed rest. He softened in the way he usually did around Hermione. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll come tomorrow, though, right? To watch me—I mean _us_ —try out for the Quidditch team?”

She smiled genuinely. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He returned the smile. “It’s at six, okay? Goodnight.”

“Night.” She turned her back to him and made her way to the girls’ dormitories, but he called her again.

“Hermione,” He sauntered towards her, stopping when he was less than two feet away. “Happy birthday.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close rather awkwardly, placing a chaste peck on her cheek.

Her face turned into the color of a ripe tomato. 

Draco pulled away, quickly turning around and half-jogging in the direction of his dorm room. Hermione stayed rooted to the spot, stunned. She lifted her hand to brush the spot where he had kissed her. There was nothing different on the surface of her skin, but why did that spot feel hotter than her whole face?

* * *

Between worrying about what Weasley said in the library and the way Draco left her that evening, Hermione didn’t get much sleep that night. It was a pity, really, because she woke up at four-thirty in the morning. She had barely gotten three hours in.

It was freezing. Hermione pulled her cloak closer to her body, trying to get as warm as possible before sunrise. She stood by the lake, waiting for her partner to appear. The glass jar and two pairs of gloves were already prepared next to her feet. 

Not one, but two figures emerged from the castle. From what it looked like, Potter had brought Weasley along. Hermione rolled her eyes. Pansy wasn’t joking when she said Potter and Weasley came as a package deal. She was still feeling a little awkward around Wesley since the night before when he had called her out. Uncomfortable would be an understatement.

“Why’d you bring _him_?”

“He asked to come along,” Potter answered.

“I don’t trust you,” said Weasley.

“What’s new?” Hermione sighed. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

She handed Potter a pair of gloves and told him exactly how to harvest a flobberworm. His gloved hand would need to be coated in mud and placed next to the worm poking out for air. Then, it would need to be coaxed out of its hole gently, and if this was done right, the worm would willingly crawl onto the hand and protest not when placed inside the jar. If done wrong, however, the worm would spray its victim with sticky, stringy saliva.

The two of them harvested worms until well after sunrise. Weasley was no help at all as he had only laughed at them for the most part, and when he stopped, they found him slumped against the nearest tree, deep in slumber. Hermione envied him as her eyelids began dropping at the sight.

By the time the jar was full, it was almost half-past six. Hermione felt better than she had that morning, however, because she and Potter had talked about the next steps in gathering ingredients while harvesting worms. She even managed to smile at a joke he’d cracked. 

Her hem was thoroughly soaked in mud, but Potter was looking much worse. The mixture of flobberworm saliva and mud had gotten on his cheek, but she chose to kept quiet rather than point it out.

She decided to go back to her dormitory and take a quick shower before having breakfast at the Great Hall—and then suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to be watching her friends try out for the Quidditch team. 

Crap. She was half an hour late. They might already be finished. 

Thankfully, the Quidditch pitch was not too far from the place they had gone to harvest worms. As the three of them walked back to the castle, they happened to come across it. There were green figures zooming around the sky. She looked for her friends and—there. She spotted Theo and Draco hovering in the air, and she suspected Pansy was the figure blurred in motion. Draco’s head was looking around for something when Theo spotted her on the ground. He said something to Draco and pointed at her. She waved enthusiastically.

Draco took one look at Hermione, Potter, and Weasley, and ignored her.

Hermione raised a brow but thought nothing about it. She parted with the Gryffindors with one word and made a beeline for Daphne, whom she had spotted sitting on a bench. The girl hadn’t fully recovered from her cold. The telltale sign was the white handkerchief she held in her hand.

“Hermione, there you are! We’ve been looking for you all morning! Where’ve you been? And goodness, why are you caked in mud?”

She plopped next to her, noticing that Daphne scooted an inch away but deciding not to comment on it. “I had to harvest flobberworms for the Potions assignment with Potter. Are you finished with it?”

“No. I have Dean Thomas as a partner. He was ill yesterday, too. He’s still feeling ill, so we haven’t gotten around to doing it.”

“Oh,” Hermione observed the green-dotted sky. “So what did I miss?”

“Well,” she paused, blowing her nose. “They’d already eliminated most people who tried out. They did it so quickly, too! They made them do one lap around the pitch, and immediately, they knew who to weed out, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Quidditch is strange.”

“I agree. So it’s down to the five of them, and there are only three slots open. I’m hoping our friends get in, Mione. They’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Me too.”

The girls turned their attention to their friends. Pansy was panting in exertion, but there was a triumphant and subtly cocky smirk on her face. Theo, too, was looking happy as he dodged ball after ball that was headed straight for his chest. Draco, on the other hand, was looking a little off. He would wear his usual mask of indifference in classrooms or hallways, but when he was on a broom, he was nothing short of thrilled. He wore the indifferent mask now. Hermione’s hopes for him faltered. Had he underperformed while she was gone?

Daphne noticed his expression as well. “You know, Malfoy almost panicked when we left the common room without you. He asked me and Pans to check the loos and we did, but you weren’t there. We figured you were out with Potter for Potions, but Malfoy didn’t believe us. Said you’d promised him you’d watch today.” She put the white fabric to her nose again.

“Yes, I did promise. It’s my fault. I totally forgot about this. I’ll find a way to make it up to them.”

“Look! They’re flying down, they must be finished.” Hermione looked back at the field and saw that Daphne was right. The floating Slytherins quickly descended back to the grass. They gathered around the team’s captain. The rest of the team was also standing behind Flint.

Hermione held her breath as she realized that they were being deliberated. Faintly, she could hear Marcus Flint’s voice as he told them who had and hadn’t made the cut.

“Pansy Parkinson!” He yelled. “Stand over here.” Flint gestured to the empty space by their right. A confused look passed Pansy’s face, but she wiped it away quickly, going over to the area Flint pointed her to. 

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Daphne replied.

“Draco Malfoy! Join her, please.” Flint said. Draco’s expression did not change. He still looked impassive and bored, as he did earlier on his broom. 

Hermione gasped. She felt bad for Pansy and Draco. They had practiced hard and long every chance they got over the summer. In her opinion, the two of them were really good. She didn’t understand why they were being rejected. Something had to be done to cheer them up later. She just hoped Theo didn’t join them.

“Last,” said Flint. “Riley Tosh. Stand over there.”

“Oh no,” said Daphne. “He didn’t make it.”

“What?” Hermione asked, but Daphne didn't reply. Her eyes were trained on them. 

Flint turned and faced his team. He stood in front of Pansy, Draco, and the other boy and said, “The three of you, step forward please.” They each took a tentative step forward. Flint said, “Gentlemen, your new teammates. Welcome to the Slytherin Quidditch Team.”

The team cheered and clapped loudly, going over to the three and patting them on the backs or shoving them playfully. 

Oh. Hermione understood. Pansy and Draco had passed. Theo had not. Hermione looked at him now. He was smiling and clapping along with the others, but there was something off about it. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was faking it.

“Poor Theo,” Hermione said.

Daphne didn’t seem to hear her as she pocketed her handkerchief, hopped off the bench, and made her way across the field where Theo stood. “Daph, what are you doing?” Hermione hurried and followed behind her.

She collided with Theo, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Nobody paid them any attention except Hermione. They were all busy congratulating the three rookies.

Daphne said, “It’s okay, Theo. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He put his hands on either side of her and gently pried her away. “I know. It’s fine.”

Daphne studied him intently, her eyes darting around his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m grand.” He said. He definitely didn’t sound grand.

Pansy broke from the crowd and ran to her friends. Hermione saw Theo place a mask of delight on his face as he congratulated Pansy. Daphne, too, wore a forced smile, as she was probably still worried about Theo. Hermione enveloped Pansy in a quick hug as she told her she was proud. 

“Congratulations, Pans!” Exclaimed Hermione.

“Thanks!” she said.

Theo asked, “Did they tell you what your position is?”

“Yeah,” she replied. She cleared her throat and said somewhat reluctantly, “I’m a Chaser."

An awkward silence fell on the four. Since they were young children, Theo had openly expressed his desire to become a Slytherin Chaser. He had wished for it every year on his birthday. Hermione was convinced that nobody in the world wanted the position more than Theo did. His face fell marginally. “That-that’s great, Pans, I’m so happy for you,” he said.

“Hey, don’t be sad, alright?” Pansy tried to smile reassuringly. “Try again next year, I’m sure you’d get in.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

She smiled genuinely. “That’s the spirit.”

“Where’s Draco?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, he’s over there talking to Flint.” Pansy jabbed a thumb behind her, and Hermione found him on the other side of the pitch. Pansy leaned and said confidentially, “Malfoy took Higgs’s spot.”

“ _What_?” Daphne whispered, intrigued. “Really?”

Hermione cocked her head. “What’s Higgs’s spot?”

“Higgs was our Seeker. There were no openings for that position—just for one Chaser, one Keeper, and one Beater… but Malfoy managed to snag it, anyway. Look over there—Higgs is positively fuming. He’s the beater now.” Pansy pointed to a boy who looked very angry indeed. He was throwing his broomstick on the ground and picking it back up repeatedly. The other Slytherins watched him, laughing.

“He’s doing a great job _beating_ if you ask me.” Theo joked bitterly, trying to ease the tension around him. It didn’t work, but the three girls laughed fakely anyway.

“I reckon Draco asked for the spot on purpose.”

“Why would he do that?” Daphne asked Pansy.

“Because do you remember when we were young, they got into a fight at Theo’s birthday party? And then Lucius punished Malfoy because he caused a scene?”

Hermione said. “I remember.” _All too well,_ she added in her head.

“I think Malfoy’s trying to get back at him.” 

Hermione nodded. “From the looks of him, it’s certainly working.”

“Look! Here comes Malfoy!”

The four of them met him halfway across the field, congratulating him and giving him pats on the back. Draco advised Theo to try again next year as well, and Theo put on his unconvincing fake smile for the third time. It fooled nobody. 

Daphne pulled Theo away from the rest of the group and instructed them to go on without the two. Discreetly, she whispered to Hermione that she just wanted to make sure Theo was really okay, and she couldn’t do that with so many people around.

Meanwhile, Draco was ignoring Hermione. He didn’t look at her as he and Pansy conversed going back to their common room. Hermione trailed after the pair like a lost puppy.

When Pansy and Draco split up to shower and change into their school uniforms for the day, Hermione followed after Draco and pulled his arm back to talk to him. “Draco, wait.”

He turned, looking irritated. He did not look at her.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“Nothing."

“Are you angry with me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I know you are,” she let go of his arm and fidgeted with her thumbs, eyes trained on the floor. “Look, I’m sorry I almost didn’t make it to the tryouts. I had to harvest flobberworms with Potter, and you know that that’s got to be done before sunrise for the best results. But I… I lost track of time, and I’m sorry.”

Without looking at her he said, “Right.” Draco turned to leave. 

Hermione grabbed his arm again. This time, he yanked it back but turned to her nonetheless.

“Why are you still upset?” She asked, her brows furrowing.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Draco finally looked at her. She found that his normally warm grey irises were cold as ice. “Why do you care?” He asked, stepping closer. His cheeks flared an angry color.

Hermione stepped back. For the first time in her life, she felt intimidated by Draco. His slightly taller build also contributed to her fright. Still, she lifted her chin and said, “I-I care because you’re my friend, and I don’t like it when my friends are upset. Look, I know it’s me you’re mad at, and I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

He chuckled darkly. “That’s rich.” He stepped forward once, his eyes narrowing. Hermione copied him, stepping back once again. Draco said, “Your promises don’t mean shite.”

She inhaled sharply. _“_ What _?”_ Hermione felt as if she was punched. 

“Leave me alone, Lestrange.” He quickly pivoted and walked back towards his dorm room, not looking back.

Hermione was dumbstruck. Did Draco really just curse at her? After she’d apologized? Why was he being so mean? She didn’t even miss the tryouts completely—she’d been there in time to see him get the spot. Her promise wasn’t completely worthless, was it? Hermione tried not to cry. _Inhale, exhale._

At the back of her mind, she felt the beginnings of a panic attack rising. Quickly, she plopped down on a chair nearest her and closed her eyes. Her fingers started trembling. She balled them into fists and squashed away her worries, focusing on counting to ten. 

* * *

For the rest of the day, Hermione tried to avoid Draco as much as possible. She was afraid that he might trigger another almost-panic attack that she’d had to pull herself out of before it turned into something worse. At breakfast and lunch, she’d sat on the opposite end of the table from him to avoid any interaction. She also walked separately from any subgroup within their friend group that Draco was in. Of course, it also helped that he seemed to be avoiding her, too. The feeling was awful. 

Daphne, too, had been making herself scarce. Only a few looks and even fewer words had been exchanged between Hermione and her best friend after breakfast. She longed to ask her what was wrong, but she was afraid that she herself might not be emotionally capable of receiving the burdens of receiving someone else’s problems. She would ask her eventually, but not right at this moment. Hermione assumed Daphne felt the same way, based on the concerned looks she gave her, as well as her lack of inquiry. 

In Potions, not once had Hermione looked behind her in fear that she would make eye contact with Draco. Pansy, Tracey, Draco, Theo, and Blaise were talking about something she was not paying attention to, but she didn’t want to find out. Her eyes were glazed over, trained on the other side of the room. 

She had been daydreaming about Mandrake roots and their medicinal benefits when a blur of red and black caught her attention. It was Potter, waving at her tentatively. Weasley was behind him. Since when had Potter become all friendly? Hermione smiled meekly and looked away when she realized that her eyes were previously glued on the cauldron cabinet on the Gryffindor side of the room. Potter and Wesley took their seats, conversing between them in hushed tones.

“Look who’s gone all chummy with the Gryffindors,” said Blaise from behind her. “I’d watch out for Scarhead’s sidekick, if I were you, Lestrange. Wouldn’t want to catch Weasel's poverty disease, now would you?"

Hermione shook her head, remaining silent. 

She felt suddenly aware as tension crept up on her, similar to the way she felt whenever someone’s eyes were trained on her back. She shivered and moved to clasp her hands together.

The quill atop her table had been knocked to the ground by the movement of her hands. It bounced on the floor twice and rolled behind her so that if she wanted to see where it went, she’d have to crane her head around and risk accidentally making eye contact with the blond boy. As it was, all her spare quills were in her room because she had forgotten to pack them when she hurried that morning after her almost-panic attack.

She sighed and decided to look back.

Draco’s eyes were not on her. Instead, he glowered at something in the distance, and after Hermione bent to pick up her quill, she turned to that direction and saw that he glared at Potter and Weasley. She shook her head and focused on Snape’s lecture.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Daphne asked Hermione to teach her how to answer their Transfiguration homework due the next day, so they stayed up late on Hermione’s bed to discuss it. They had offered Millie to join, but the girl had apparently already copied off of a skinny-looking Ravenclaw, so she had declined. All three other girls had already gone to bed hours ago, and now, it was just the pair of them awake. They spoke in hushed tones, not bothering to cast a silencing charm.

“...and then just like that, the slippers should turn right back into rabbits,” Hermione concluded.

“Mhmm… and the counterspell is…?” Daphne trailed off. “Ah-ah, I’ve got it, it’s at the tip of my tongue.” She said when Hermione tried to interject with the correct answer. “The Lapifors Spell?” Daphne asked.

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Finally! You’ve no idea how long I’ve been confused.” She said, writing the answer down on her parchment. She magicked it to put itself away with a quick spell and a yawn.

“Thank you so much, Hermione, you’re amazing. What would I do without you?” She asked.

“Terrorize a skinny Ravenclaw into showing his answers to you, I reckon.” They laughed for a few seconds, trying to keep their voices low. 

They calmed down, but after a while, Daphne still hadn’t made a move to go back to her bed. There was a crease in between her brows as she gazed unseeingly at Hermione’s blanket. Hermione was about to ask her what was wrong, but Daphne spoke up.

“Hermione, if I tell you a secret, do you swear to keep it?” She asked, still gazing at the blanket.

“Of course, Daph, you can trust me.”

She pulled out her wand and cast a _Muffliato_ around Hermione’s bed. She took a deep breath.

And another.

And one more.

And then finally…

“You go first.”

Hermione asked, “Hm?”

“Something’s been bothering you too, hasn’t there?”

“Well, yes, I... uh, suppose.” Daphne put her on-the-spot. She paused, gathering her thoughts and organizing how to tell her that her second-best-friend Draco might no longer hold the title anymore. 

“See, um… it’s about er, this morning when… when Dr—”

“IkissedTheo.” Daphne blurted. 

Hermione blinked. “ _What_?” She paused, staring at Daphne with an incredulous look. She completely forgot about her own problems. “I’m sorry, but… _what?_ ”

“I. Kissed. Theo.” She said slowly. 

“Daph. Are you serious?”

She nodded. 

“I didn’t even know you fancied him.”

“It just… happened so quickly, I don’t know…” she shook her head and started breathing raggedly.

Hermione placed a hand on her wrist. “Calm down, Daph. Start from the beginning, maybe?”

She sighed and finally looked at Hermione. “This morning, after Theo didn’t make the cut, I talked to him privately. Remember? I made you, Pansy, and Draco go ahead?”

“I remember.”

“Right. So I pulled him into an empty classroom and asked him what was wrong.” Daphne paused. “I thought he’d put on a brave face, you know, like what he does around everybody else… but Hermione, he totally… he just… told me _everything_. He told me that he failed, and he was pretty much worthless. He didn’t have the courage to face his father now that he didn’t make the team. He was so, _so_ disappointed in himself, and he just… broke down crying.”

Hermione pulled both of Daphne’s hands into hers and rubbed them comfortingly with her thumbs. 

“He was so vulnerable and he looked at me as if I could do no wrong, and he _clung_ to me, Hermione, he actually clung to me.” She paused. Daphne said breathlessly, “So I kissed him. Didn’t even think about it.”

“And—and then?”

She looked away. “Well, I actually… don’t know. I sort of ran away right after. I didn’t look at his face.”

“Merlin.”

“Oh, I know, Hermione. I can’t believe it either!” She shrugged. 

Hermione squeezed her friend’s hand. “Do you fancy him, Daph?”

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Daphne took her time and answered after a while. “I think I do. Wouldn't have kissed him if I didn’t.”

“Then that’s great! I don’t see why you’re so worked up.”

“Because, Hermione,” she looked at her best friend. “I’m not sure if he likes me back.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he?”

She looked down. “Earlier at breakfast—after I… you know—he didn’t speak to me. He didn’t do so much as look at me. And it wasn’t just at breakfast, either. For the whole day, he hasn't minded me at all. I’m starting to think, like, what if kissing him was a mistake? What if he doesn’t like me, Hermione? I’ve just made a complete fool of myself. Oh, this is so embarrassing. I wish I could turn back time and undo everything, I should talk to him tomorrow and say that I didn’t mean it. I was just—”

“Daphne, stop. Listen to me,” Hermione said, caressing her hand lightly. “You don’t know that.” 

She shook her head. Daphne’s breathing started quickening again, but Hermione said, “Tell you what, Daph. You go ahead and sleep on it, and I’m sure Theo’s going to be back to normal soon, okay? You’ve been up early today so you’re probably knackered, which explains why you aren’t thinking clearly.”

She sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m probably just…” she shrugged. “Overthinking. Wait, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s your thing? What's got you sad today too?”

“Oh, that.” Hermione blinked. “It’s—it’s nothing. Really. Draco’s just mad at me for being late to his Quidditch tryouts. I’m sure he’ll get over it soon.” She said, fidgeting with her blanket. 

“Don’t worry, I reckon he will, too. You know Malfoy—he’ll find someone else whose world doesn’t revolve around him and make that person feel guilty about it.” 

Hermione chuckled quietly.

At that, Daphne rose from her spot on Hermione’s bed and slowly made her way to her own. Their beds were right next to each other.

Hermione snuffed out the candles around her that they had kept lit up for their little study session. She bundled up in her blanket and closed her eyes.

“Hermione?” 

“Hmm?” She replied, eyes shut.

Daphne spoke softly so as not to be overheard by anyone who might have still been awake. “What if he doesn’t like me?” In her head, Hermione pictured a frown on her friend’s face.

She replied as softly as Daphne did. “What if he does?”

Daphne was quiet for a long time, and after a while, Hermione thought that sleep had already taken over the girl. However, two minutes later, she giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an extra long chapter just for u! :) felt bad because I haven't updated in forever lmao sorry


	9. Behind the Quidditch Pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a 10k word chapter but i decided to split it because the second half had a different tone from this one hehe :) enjoy!

November 5, 1992

“Are you all going to take much longer?” Tracey asked vexedly with her chin atop her palm. Her plate of food had been emptied ten minutes ago, around the same time it had been filled. It wasn’t because Tracey had only put a small portion for herself, but because she had scarfed everything down quickly to prove a point. 

Nobody said anything to acknowledge that they heard the blonde, except Crabbe who rolled his eyes. Tracey continued, “You know, if you were all vegetarian like me, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“What problem?” Drawled Millie. “You think that eating for more than ten minutes is a problem?”

“Sure,” she replied. “See, look at me—I’ve finished everything in five. It’s because I’m vegetarian now.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” mumbled Hermione quietly.

“Eating vegetables is not going to make us eat any faster, you daft bimbo.” Millie retorted.

Tracey’s eyes twitched. “Yeah? Well, _maybe_ you should give it a try, Mills. Merlin knows you could do with a little less meat...” she mumbled.

Millie dropped her fork. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing at all! I just meant that being vegetarian has its perks. What did you think I meant, Mills?” Tracey said with a coy smile. Millie glared at her for a second more before picking up her fork and stabbing the chicken leg on her plate.

Tracey claimed to be a vegetarian ever since yesterday when she had had a conversation with a fifth-year Slytherin girl who demonstrated the benefits of that lifestyle. Tracey then proceeded to eat no chicken, beef, or fish, and only opted for plant-based foods. Despite the fact that meals at Hogwarts were plentiful and varied, there was only a little that excluded any sort of meat completely. The ones that were plant-based were usually… well, desserts.

Tracey looked down her nose at Goyle’s plate, “All that greasy fat from your chicken is making me nauseous.”

“You think your food was any better?” Goyle asked. “You had a whole box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans and like, six pumpkin pasties.”

She raised her chin even higher. “It’s meatless,” was all she said.

After five more minutes of rushed meal time, Hermione, Tracey, Millie, Crabbe, and Goyle left the Great Hall and made their way to their next class: Defence Against the Dark Arts.

While they walked, Tracey continued boasting. “We should just all be vegetarian. It’s better for _literally_ everyone.”

“What about cow breeders and people who take care of livestock?” Hermione asked. “They’d lose their jobs if everyone stopped buying from them.”

Tracey raised her hands. “Then, _obviously_ , they should just use those animals to make leather for bags or something, I dunno.”

Hermione cocked her head. “Are you… are you joking?”

Tracey shook her head.

“You know, Trace, people usually go vegetarian when they want to save animals’ lives, not kill them in some other less justified way.”

Crabbe agreed. “I’ve got an auntie who’s vegetarian because she saw a pig being killed. Now she’s all about saving the animals.”

“I’d respect your decision, but I don’t think you’ve got your principles quite right,” Hermione said while Millie sniggered. Tracey, however, only examined her pristine nails, choosing to ignore her.

They arrived at the classroom and found two Ravenclaw boys alone inside… seated on the Slytherin side of the room. _Uh-oh_ , Hermione thought. This was an opportunity for her friends to exert power over their peers. Crabe and Goyle had already spotted them before she did, and they made a beeline to the blue-clad students. 

Hermione hesitated before following them reluctantly.

“Oi,” hollered Goyle. “What do you think you’re doing, sitting over here?”

The five Slytherins enclosed the Ravenclaws in the way they did when they were bullying people. Hermione was uncomfortable as she heard Weasley’s voice in her head saying, _neutrality sides with the oppressor._

“Nothing, we’re… we’re just sitting.” The redhead said, probably confused as to why the Slytherins were confronting them.

“In case you haven’t heard, nerd,” Millie said. “This is the Slytherin’s side of the room.”

“No, we haven’t heard, actually. It’s because there’s no such thing as a Slytherin side. Nor is there a Ravenclaw. This class—” the redhead gestured to the empty classroom. “It’s free-seating. Professor said so.”

Hermione was impressed. Very seldomly do people stand up to her friends, but when they did they were usually the Gryffindor sort. Ravenclaws normally appealed to their logic and opted to back off before the situation got any worse.

“Yeah?” Crabbe challenged. “Well, we say it’s not. This side is ours. Go back over there.”

The two boys looked at each other briefly before the dark-skinned boy with green eyes spoke. “No. We’re not going to. You can’t just bully us into submission like the others. We’re not afraid of you.”

Said the redhead, “If you want these seats, you’re gonna have to fight us for it.” 

Crabbe and Goyle stood straighter and exchanged evil smirks. “Oh, we will.” Goyle stepped forward and took the redhead by his collar. His arm raised as if to punch him, but before he was able to push through with the assault, however, Professor Lupin entered the room.

“Goodness, early students! My, Mr. Goyle, what are you doing with Mr. Sinclair?” Everyone balked as they stared at Lupin. Millie relaxed her guarded stance and Tracey dropped her hands from her waist to her side. 

Goyle dropped the smug-looking Ravenclaw. “Just… fixing his collar, Professor.” He then proceeded to make a show of straightening the boy's collar, which Goyle had ruffled in the first place.

“Take your seats, children. We’ll be having a pop quiz as soon as the rest of your classmates arrive, so I suggest filling your minds with as much knowledge you can muster before the hour is up.” Lupin made a beeline to his desk and arranged the test papers from his messenger bag. 

Crabbe said lowly, “Wankers.”

The Slytherins reluctantly made their way to the other side of the room, where Ravenclaws usually sat. As students filed in, most of them stopped at the entrance, baffled at the new seating arrangement. Some went back to their seats from the day before, while the others understood that the two sides of the classroom were still divided House-wise. Draco and the others were a few minutes late, but didn’t ask why the classroom’s setup was different because the quiz had already begun. 

The quiz was long and tedious, which made everybody feel extremely drained afterward. As the group headed out to their next class, Hermione stayed behind to ask Professor Lupin about a question in the quiz they had just taken. When she was satisfied with his answer, she took her bag and walked out of the room. 

She was stopped on her way out by the two Ravenclaws. “Lestrange.” The redhead called out as he leaned next to the door.

“What do you want?” She propped her hand on her hip and shifted her weight, narrowing her eyes at them.

The boy only said a few words. “Tell your friends to meet us behind the Quidditch pitch after classes.” He turned away from her.

His friend added, “And don’t be late.” The pair walked off.

Hermione wasted no time. She rushed to the Herbology greenhouses and located Daphne as quickly as she could. The girl had saved her friend an empty seat, and Hermione slid into it, hastily throwing her book bag on top of the table.

“Daphne,” Hermione said. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione told her what had happened in the previous class before she arrived, as well as what happened after. Daphne’s eyes widened.

“Daph, what am I going to do?”

“We’ve just been challenged to a duel! You’ve got to tell them, Hermione. You absolutely _must_.”

“If I tell them, someone’s going to end up in the Hospital Wing. I don’t want anyone to get injured.”

“If you don’t tell them, no one’s gonna turn up, and our reputation’s going to be ruined. Do you want that?”

Hermione wanted to tell her that she didn’t give a damn about their reputation, but she kept her mouth shut. A true Slytherin would care, wouldn’t they? The truth is, Hermione was still bothered over what the Sorting Hat had told her over a year ago—it had claimed that she wasn’t fit for being in Slytherin, and would do much better in Gryffindor, of all houses. “I don’t know Daph…” she said

She scowled. “What’s gotten into you, Hermione? You used to be angry when people threatened us. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because if you’re not telling them, then I will.”

Hermione looked away. “That might be a better idea actually.”

So Daphne walked away from Hermione towards Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco. From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw that the trio had received the news gladly. They were delighted to be challenged to a duel, and from the looks of it, they weren’t going to decline.

“So… what did they say?” Hermione asked Daphne once she came back to her seat.

“They accept. Of course, they do. We’re invited too, you know. To watch them when they win.”

“How are you so sure they’ll win?"

Daphne looked at her best friend with an evil glint in her eye. “Let’s just say Crabbe’s got a trick up his sleeve.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was a chilly October evening. On nights like this, Hermione preferred to be snuggled up next to the common room’s hearth while reading a heavy, juicy tome. Instead, she was standing in the cold, clad in only her school robes to fight off the frostbite. A warming charm would have done the job, however, Hermione didn’t want to risk getting caught using magic. Sneaking out was mischief enough.

The Slytherins who were present were busy planning with Crabbe and Goyle, who would be dueling with the Ravenclaws. Their voices were loud in the otherwise quiet night. Hermione tuned them out, focusing on keeping her fingers warm.

As the clock struck to signify the new hour, the Ravenclaws appeared.

There were four of them. The two boys from class earlier were flanked by two other Ravenclaws—a boy and a girl. It was much too dark to see their faces, and Hermione could not tell whether they were as angry-looking as their companions. 

“Ah, finally!” Draco said. “We thought you’d never come.”

“We aren’t backing down from a duel _we_ asked for.”

“Could’ve fooled us,” Pansy snickered.

The girl from Ravenclaw spoke loudly, “No more wasting time. Who will be dueling?”

“I will,” said Goyle.

The girl nodded. “From our side, it will be Torin.”

The redheaded boy stepped forward, lifting his chin in defiance.

Goyle and Torin Sinclair took their positions across each other, about three meters apart. Everybody else moved out of the way. Hermione stood next to Millicent and took her hand. 

“Wands at the ready,” said the girl. “There will be no use of unforgivables.” She looked pointedly at Goyle, then at the other Slytherins. “Under no circumstances, understood? On my count… three… two… one… begin!”

But Goyle had already begun even before she finished counting down. He cast, “ _Locomotor Mortis!”_

Sinclair moved swiftly, much to Goyle’s chagrin. Somewhere behind then, the Ravenclaw girl complained about him casting too early and breaking the rules, but nobody paid her any attention. Sinclair was now casting a disarming charm at Goyle, which he had fought against with a _Protego_.

If she was being completely honest, she didn’t know Goyle could duel well… or at all, actually. He was abysmal at best in Defense class, hence her worry that someone would end up in the Hospital Wing. She felt relieved. If he did lose, at last, he put up a fair fight.

But alas, Hermione’s daydreams of the duel ending fairly were just that—daydreams. The Ravenclaw now had the upper hand. He was throwing jinx after jinx at Goyle, who was looking very distressed. He was panting and sweating in exertion after having cast four shielding charms in a row. 

Sinclair was on a warpath.

Just when Hermione thought he would concede, Goyle called out, “Now!”

Suddenly, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo simultaneously cast _Petrificus Totalus_ spells at the three Ravenclaws, causing them to topple over like wooden figurines. Draco threw a verbal _Incarcerous_ at Sinclair, and the hexes aimed at Goyle stopped. Thick ropes appeared out of thin air and bound themselves around the redhead. His wand fell out of his grasp and to the floor. He cried out, “That’s cheating! Un-petrify my friends!”

“It’s not cheating. Your friend clearly said no unforgivables, and we haven’t used any.” Goyle said. “Now, for the finale.”

Hermione’s friends grinned. Millie squeezed her hand and she found the brunette smirking evilly. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy took the petrified Ravenclaws and hauled them upright, forcing them to watch whatever was going to happen to their redheaded friend. 

Crabbe stepped in front of Sinclair. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders and pushed them down, forcing him to kneel. When he was on the ground, Crabbe’s hands went to his belt buckle. He undid it slowly, looking down his nose at the Ravenclaw.

“What are you doing?” He panicked. “What’s going on? Let me go! Let me—” He was cut off by Millie’s _Silencio_.

Crabbe’s zipper was as loud as Hermione’s protesting thoughts. She jerked forward instinctively but was held back by Millie’s hands, which now enclosed hers.

Hermione refused to look. She turned her head as she heard the telltale sound of... a boy urinating.

Her friends cheered and hollered happily. 

“In the mouth, Crabbe! Shoot it in the mouth!”

“Or piss in his nose!”

“Look at him cough!”

“Oh, are you crying, little baby?”

“That’s what you get when you mess with us!”

Hermione saw that the three other Ravenclaws looked on with identical horrified but helpless facial expressions. She herself was repulsed. The strong stench of piss permeated the air, and Hermione could no longer breathe without the smell of it invading her nostrils. She gagged, feeling bile rise up in her throat. She wanted to stop it. She wanted to intervene so badly, but Millie’s hands pinned hers down. Her friend had sensed Hermione’s hesitation in the idea of a duel, so she had acted accordingly.

Hermione decided she wouldn’t forgive Millicent easily for this.

After what felt like an eternity, the sound of piss finally ceased. Hermione dared to look. 

Torin Sinclair’s face was completely soaked in clear, yellow urine. From the front of his hair to his chest. The boy was visibly crying, but his tears mixed with Crabbe’s piss on his lashes. Screaming, too—silenced by Millie’s curse.

“We don’t want to see your lot in our side of the room again… or else.” Said Draco.

Theo, Blaise, and Pansy let go of their hold on the other Ravenclaws, causing them to fall over once again, stiff as boards. Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco laughed boisterously as they retreated back towards the castle. Everybody else followed, and from a distance, Hermione spotted Daphne and Tracey coming out and complaining, vexed about having missed the duel. Crabbe put his arm around their shoulders as he filled them in on what had happened. Hermione envied the girls.

Millie let go of her hands, but not before giving her a pointed look that dared her to unbound Sinclair or his friends. Hermione looked away. Millicent made sure that her friend walked ahead of her before following. 

Everybody else made their way to the Great Hall for supper. Hermione felt the beginnings of a panic attack rising within her. Breath came out in short puffs, her eyes started to water, and she felt very, very nauseous. She decided that she needed to excuse herself from the group to “use the loo.” Hermione slipped away with Millie’s suspicious eyes trailing after her.

When she was finally alone, she broke down in tears, allowing the panic attack to do what it wanted to her body. _I should have stopped it, I should have stopped it, I should have stopped it..._ her subconscious repeated over and over. She emptied the contents of her stomach into a toilet for ten minutes, and when there was nothing left, she continued to dry-heave until her throat screamed for her to stop. 

_My fault, my fault, my fault._

Wiping her eyes, she exited the cubicle. She forced herself not to look at the mirror because she was absolutely certain that she wouldn’t like what she would see. Instead, Hermione splashed her face with cold water. 

After her episode in the lavatory, Hermione faced the Great Hall, where her friends were. She couldn’t bring herself to walk inside. When she tried, her heart rate sped up once again at the thought of the conversation her friends were bound to be having about the defeated Ravenclaws.

So she had turned around and started walking. She didn’t think of a destination but followed only where her feet took her. Hermione tried not to dwell on the events of that night. She thought of potion ingredients, incantations, and practical spells.

The castle was bigger than she had thought. Hermione never thought to explore or stray from the path of her regular classes. She went up staircases just to wander empty corridors and go back down again. She made polite small talk with some portraits who deigned themselves low enough to speak to a ‘snake’, or so they called her. 

After a while, Hermione’s legs grew tired. She had no idea where she was. There were many paintings on the wall of prominent historical figures she did and did not recognize, but the biggest painting was of a fat lady with a wreath of flowers atop her head like a crown. 

Hermione began, “Excuse me—”

“Oh, I know you!” The Fat Lady exclaimed. “You’re that Slytherin girl who was supposed to be in Gryffindor! The Lestrange, yes.”

“What?” She was taken aback.

“The Hat told Phineas all about you last year. Phineas, you know him! Phineas Black the Headmaster back in… what year was it… oh, I couldn’t remember for the life of me—well, not for the _life_ of me, exactly, because I already died—” 

“Did you say you knew me?” Hermione interrupted.

“Of course I know you. You would have been a great addition to my Lions, but you decided to bunk with the snakes, instead. I don’t take it personally, but I can’t speak for Alcott…”

Hermione hesitated. “Does… does everybody know about this?”

“No, no. Just me. And don’t worry, we won’t tell a soul. Not a _living_ soul, anyway.”

“Oh.” She said. “Well, I just wanted to ask how I could—”

The Fat Lady held up a finger. “Hold on, dear, there are students coming out.”

“Students? I beg your pardon?”

But the ornate gold painting swung outwards and Hermione had to move out of the way to save herself from a possible concussion. There was a hole behind it, Hermione realized, her interest piqued. Out of the hole walked Potter, Weasley, and two other Gryffindors Hermione didn’t recognize.

“Lestrange? What are you doing here?” Potter asked, approaching her. Weasley followed his friend, while everybody else regarded Hermione distantly with cold glares.

“I’m, um… I’m a bit lost.” She said quietly that the two other boys wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t know this is the Gryffindor tower, and I also don't know how to get to the Slytherin common room from here.”

“Does get a bit tricky with the staircases.” Said Weasley.

“It does. Come, we’ll escort you.” Potter said. He looked behind him at the two other boys and said, “You go on, Dean, Seamus.”

Dean and Seamus left, muttering about something—or _someone_ , more likely—too lowly for her to overhear.

Potter and Weasley led the way for Hermione. They went down staircases, crossed corridors, and avoided Peeves the poltergeist. The trio was silent, but not awkwardly so, like the silences they had in the library. It was comfortable, much to Hermione’s surprise. 

Weasley said, “Why were you roaming about in this part of the castle, anyway?” There was no malice in his tone at all, which again, took her by surprise.

Potter agreed. “Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be having supper with your friends?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not very hungry.”

The boys exchanged a look, but decided not to push it.

Instead, Potter said, “Your friends made it to the Slytherin Quidditch team, I heard.”

“Pansy and Draco did, yes.”

“I heard Angelina say Parkinson isn’t terrible on a broom. Better watch out for her, mate.” Weasley said to Potter.

“And Malfoy too. They say he made Seeker.”

“Yeah, Lestrange, is it true? Is Malfoy your new Seeker?”

She hesitated. “I’m… not actually supposed to tell you… but yes. It’s true. I was there when it happened.”

“Wonder how he did it. There were no open slots for Seeker.”

Hermione replied, “It’s sort of complicated. Draco’s been rivals with Terrence Higgs since we were little. He was the Seeker last year, but Draco asked Flint for his spot.” 

The two boys nodded. “And he got it? Just like that?” Asked Weasley.

“Well… I can’t…” Hermione hesitated again. _Can I trust them?_ She asked herself. It took her a few seconds to debate with herself. Finally, she thought that it didn’t matter because Draco was angry at her either way. She sighed. “You have to promise not to tell.”

“We won’t tell. You have our word—” 

“—Yeah.” Potter and Weasley said at the same time.

“Draco… he sort of… bribed Flint into giving him the spot.”

They all stopped walking. Thankfully, nobody was in the corridor because Weasley exclaimed loudly, “What? He _bribed_ him? How?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Hermione reprimanded Weasley before continuing, “He ‘donated’ brooms to the whole team.” She used finger air quotes.

“ _What_?” Exclaimed Potter.

“Shh! Be quiet, I said!”

“What brooms were they?”

“I don’t know. New ones? The handles were black.”

“Nimbus 2001! The whole Slytherin team flies on Nimbus 2001s?”

“I guess.”

“That’s even more impressive than your broom, mate.” Said Weasley.

“We’re going to have to train harder, then. I’ll tell Wood.”

Hermione stomped her foot. “What? You promised not to tell!”

Weasley raised his brows, amused. “Did you just stomp your foot?” Hermione ignored him.

“I won’t tell him about the new brooms. I’ll just ask if we can train harder this year. They’ll find out eventually anyway.” He paused, studying the worried expression on the Slytherin’s face. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.”

“Thank you.” Hermione breathed, relieved.

The trio started walking down the hallway again at a slower pace.

“Besides, we've been falling a little behind lately. We were absolutely crushed by your lot last year, and I want to make sure it won’t happen again.”

Under her breath, Hermione muttered, “At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent.”

Potter and Weasley laughed out loud. “What, you’re saying Malfoy hasn’t got any talent?”

She denied it, saying, “No, he does. I just mean he should have been Beater if not for his father’s money.” Suddenly, Hermione was filled with guilt at the mention of Lucius Malfoy, who did nothing but accept her into his home, albeit stiffly. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

They were quiet for a moment, enjoying the sounds of the night—the howling wind, ruffling leaves, the _clip-clop_ of their shoes on stone, and hooting owls from a distance.

Out of the blue, Weasley said, “You haven’t been out torturing people again, have you?” 

He meant it in jest with an accompanying smirk, but her Hermione stopped in her tracks, her eyes focused on nothing.

Potter asked. “Lestrange? Have you?”

Hermione’s heart rate sped up. She had already been doing fine. She was distracted enough to the point that she could have gone to bed without remembering what had happened behind the Quidditch pitch. Everything was going so well. Suddenly, her memories flashed in her head again. The look of Sinclair’s soaked face, the petrified Ravenclaws, the sound of a zipper…

There was a harsh sound. A heaving sound… like someone was drowning and gasping for air. It took a while for Hermione to realize that the sound was coming from her. Hermione trembled.

Weasley put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, breathe, Lestrange, breathe.”

She couldn’t focus on what they were saying. Her vision spun. She closed her eyes. Distantly, she heard Potter say, “Lean her against the wall. She looks like she might faint.”

The stone wall collided with her back rather harshly, and it snapped her out. She let the dizzying sensation take over her for a few seconds. When things stopped spinning, she opened her eyes. 

Hermione was seated on the floor with her knees to her chest. Potter and Weasley knelt in front of her. One of them was waving a hand in front of her eyes.

“Are you alright? Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?” One of them asked.

“No… I’m fine, I just need to breathe for a few seconds.”

The trio sat in silence. Even the calming sounds from outside were suddenly gone. 

When Hermione’s vision was clear and she could grip her robes without trembling, she said, “Sorry. I have panic attacks sometimes. They usually happen when I’m alone. I’ve never had one with anyone present except Draco when I was young.”

“Are you sure you don't want us to bring you to the—”

“Yes, I’m certain.” She said firmly.

After a while, Weasley said, “I take it the bullying hasn’t stopped?”

Hermione shook her head, not meeting their eyes.

“Do you want to tell us about it?”

Hermione had no other friends. All of them were bullies and enablers of violence if it meant they would end up superior. This might be the only chance she would have for an outlet. She began. “I tried to stop them earlier. I did. But Millie’s grip was so tight, it hurt, and everybody was there. If I stopped them, I wouldn’t have any friends and I don’t want that.”

“What did they do?” Potter asked.

“They petrified three Ravenclaws for challenging them to a wizard’s duel.” She paused, contemplating her next words. “And also… Crabbe urinated on a boy.”

“ _No_.” Their jaws dropped to the floor.

“It’s true, unfortunately. And I tried to stop them, but Millie held me back. She knew I didn’t want any of it, and she held me back to make sure I wouldn’t interfere.” Hermione looked down, ashamed. “I thought she was my friend.”

“Well, she isn’t.” Said Potter, rather heatedly. “Friends don’t hurt their friends. Especially not on purpose.”

Hermione nodded, realizing that he was right. “I know.”

“Someone should tell Professor Dumbledore. Or Professor McGonagall. Those gits can’t just get away with something like that. They should be expelled!” Weasley seethed.

“No! Please, they’re my friends. Even if they’re mean and they bully people a lot, I don't want them to get expelled. I’ll just try harder to stop them in the future. Besides, I was a part of it, too. If you rat them out, you rat me out.”

Hermione stepped in front of the two boys. “Please promise me you won’t tell. Please, please. I-I can’t, I can’t—”

“Hey,” said Weasley. Hermione lifted her head. “Alright, we won’t tell… as long as you do something to stop them next time. At least you tried, right? Baby steps.” He gave her an innocent, timid smile.

“I guess so.” She returned the smile. “Thank you for this, Potter, Weasley. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused. “You can call us by our names, you know. Our first names. We aren’t your enemies.”

Hermione chuckled, light filling her eyes. “You’re right… Harry.” She looked at the ginger. “Ron.”

At the same time, the boys said, “Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love u


	10. Narcissa's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my head i cast georgie henley (aka lucy from narnia) as daphne :)

November 7, 1992

Two days later, Hermione felt much better. She had deliberately forced herself to forget the events of _that_ night and focused on other things. She had also hung around Harry and Ron more often, though not often enough to raise suspicion from her friends.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, perfect for today's Quidditch match. In fact, Draco and Pansy had woken up at the crack of dawn to get started on their training. It was both their first match, and they were anxious to see how it would go. They decided to train a little earlier than the rest of the team. When Hermione had woken up, she found Pansy's bed empty.

They went down to breakfast early as well. They piled their plates high with greasy strips of bacon, sausages, beans, and what-have-you. Even Tracey—who had denied ever being vegetarian in the first place—did. The façade lasted about two days before she gave up. Hermione shook her head fondly at the blonde's antics. Tracey was fickle-minded and sort of shallow, but very predictable. Therefore, she was easy to be around.

They were in the middle of having breakfast when Pansy, Draco, and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team entered the Great Hall. The team had dispersed and sat next to their friends instead of all together before the big game.

As soon as Pansy and Draco sat, they hadn't ceased to stuff their faces with food.

"Hey, easy with the food!" Said Blaise. "Don't want to throw up while catching the Snitch."

"S'rry," Draco said, mouth full. He swallowed before continuing. "Flint's got an anti-sick potion, so we can eat however much we want to."

Pansy agreed. "M'ght 's well take advantage of 't." She said whilst chewing.

"Well, rein yourselves in before it goes down the wrong hole." Hermione chuckled. Draco looked at her for only a second before looking away. He merely nodded at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Honestly? It's been weeks,_ She thought.

Just then, a massive eagle owl swooped down from one of the high windows. It was of muted brown color, bright orange eyes, and it had a very serious, no-nonsense face. Clutched in its beak was one—no, two—envelopes.

Hermione knew only one owl that carried itself as highly as it did… as if it, too, received pureblood training. Of course, it was Draco's eagle owl.

Hermione began, "Draco, isn't that—"

"Pembroke!" He spotted it. "What are you doing here? Have you got a letter for me?"

Pembroke landed atop the table, right in front of Draco. He dropped the envelopes in front of him, and in the same movement, stole a strip of bacon from Pansy's plate.

"Hey, that's mine!" She called after the owl, but it had already flown away. Hermione watched the owl leave. It exited through the same window it had flown in from, barely flapping its graceful wings.

"Who's it from, mate?" Blaise asked.

Draco picked up the envelopes and compared them side-by-side. "My mother." He said without taking his eyes off one of them. He extended his left hand to Hermione, and it took a while before she realized that the other letter was for her. It was also from Narcissa.

Hermione tore away the wax seal and unfolded the letter within.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I do not wish to trouble you, but as it is, there are some things you need to know. The Manor was raided by the Ministry last night. Lucius and I are fine, but they took old family heirlooms, furniture, jewelry, and about anything they deemed cursed, including your piano in the guest house. Though, I assure you that it was not bewitched in any way. I am so sorry, dear girl. There was nothing we could do. If it makes you feel any better, you may use the pianoforte in the drawing room of the main house whenever you desire it. I know you dearly love to play._

_If it is not too much to ask, please do comfort my Draco. The Ministry took a lot of items from his wing of the house that they shouldn't have. It certainly will not be easy for him to accept. Please remind him that the raids will stop one day when we are proven innocent. For now, please be there for him._

_Take care always._

_Narcissa Malfoy_

When Hermione looked up from the letter, everybody was staring, waiting for her to let them know why the matriarch had written.

Hermione's eyes drifted to Draco who was still reading his own letter. She realized that the boy appeared to be indifferent. If not for the appearance management lectures from none other than Narcissa Malfoy—pureblood queen extraordinaire, Hermione wouldn't have noticed the infinitesimal flaring of his nostrils. She could have sworn his brows twitched as well.

"Draco…" Hermione extended her arm and placed her hand on his wrist. He didn't flinch or pull away. He didn't make a move to acknowledge her.

"What's happened?" Asked Daphne.

With an apathetic look on his face that was practiced to perfection, Draco replied, "The Manor was raided by the Ministry."

"Merlin," sighed Theo. "Wankers, the lot of them."

"I thought they stopped long ago," Daphne commented.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry," Pansy said consolingly.

Everyone at the table was solemn as Draco neatly folded his letter and tucked it back into its envelope. He wasted no time. Immediately, he stood, pocketed the envelope, and said, "No matter. Let's get going, Pansy."

"But we haven't finished eating, and the whole team's still here." She said, glancing around to find the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Indeed, the green-clad sports team were all seated and merrily chatting with their own friends.

"It's better if we train earlier than everyone else. You know, cause we're new."

"Right..." Pansy frowned at her barely-touched food.

At that, the pair up and left the Great Hall, one more reluctant than the other. Everybody stared at them as they did. They sensed Draco's masked unease. Hermione could tell by the silence that followed their departure.

Daphne placed her hand tenderly atop Hermione's. "Are you okay, 'Mione?"

She gave her friend a sad smile, pretending not to notice that everyone was listening in. "I am. Thank you for your concern. I'm just worried about Draco."

"He's gonna be okay," said Theo. "Malfoy's good at handling that stuff well."

Hermione didn't tell him, but she thought that Theo was very wrong. Draco had a bad habit of repressing his true feelings when something was bothering him. Only Hermione had gotten through his walls occasionally when they were younger. She knew better than everyone that he was not doing well. It was impossible not to learn about this aspect of his personality with years of living in the same estate.

The Manor _had_ been raided before when they were nine. There have been other times, but Narcissa had the intuition beforehand and Flooed little Draco and Hermione to Theo's or Daphne's estates before the raids, so they wouldn't witness the Aurors turning the house upside-down. When they were nine, it was most unexpected, as it had happened in the wee hours of the morning.

Draco had been hit the hardest. He tried to fight the Aurors off, slamming his body into theirs to protect his belongings. He kicked and screamed at the stone-faced Ministry workers. Alas, Lucius had to physically restrain his son in order to stop him from his fruitless pursuit. The Aurors left at sunrise. Draco had refused to go back to bed, internalizing his hatred all the while. Hermione had stayed with him. She hadn't done anything to console the boy; she just stayed silent in the corner of his overturned room. When Draco had exhausted himself from punching pillows and kicking walls, he sat next to Hermione and wiped away silent, angry tears. He fell asleep with his head on her shoulder.

Instead, Hermione replied, "Yeah, I know."

After breakfast, the group separated. Crabbe, Goyle, Tracey, and Millie went to reserve seats on the Quidditch stands, while Hermione, Daphne, Theo, and Blaise went down to the dungeons. The day of the Potions results was upon them. Hermione did not look forward to it. No, she dreaded it. She and Harry may be friends now, but it didn't change the fact that they bickered their way to a subpar potion that Hermione was reluctant to turn in. Alas, it was necessary unless she wanted incomplete marks.

It was a Saturday, so they didn't have any classes. Despite this, Professor Snape chose today to reveal the results, and they will only be shown for thirty minutes before he erased them in preparation for the Quidditch game. Potions students filled the classroom to get a glimpse of their scores. The four Slytherins were present. They had promised to let their other friends know what marks they had gotten, as they were too busy either reserving seats for the match later in the day or practicing for the actual match.

Someone nudged her from the right side.

"Harry! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be training?"

"Yeah, I'll run right back after I see what grade we got for the potion." Harry was dressed head-to-toe in his full Quidditch gear. 

Professor waved his wand over the chalkboard and their names appeared. Each was partnered with somebody from the opposite House, exactly the way it looked at the beginning of the school year. This time, however, a numerical percentage was written next to their names.

Nobody was surprised to see that Draco and his partner were at the top. They had gotten a 100%. It was common knowledge to Hermione and her friends that Lavender Brown was all too happy not to lay a finger on the potion, as per Draco's request. In turn, Draco had promised full marks. She hadn't argued. Of course, she hadn't. Brown wasn't exactly smart, but she wasn't a fool either. Draco was a natural in the field of Potions. Hermione used to think he might consider becoming a Potions Master of some sort when he was older, and then scratched it at the silly idea of a Malfoy as a common worker.

Hermione searched the board for her own name… and grimaced.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed cheerfully. "Eighty-nine percent! Didn't expect that, did you? _Exceeds Expectations._ It's better than I thought!" He beamed and elbowed her side.

"It's abysmal." Said Hermione, shaking her head. "I've never gotten such low marks in my life."

"Cheer up, Hermione. At least we had fun." He wriggled his eyebrows at her and she cracked a smile.

She hit him in the shoulder, eliciting an 'ow' from the boy in circular spectacles.

Hermione asked, "Nervous for the match?"

"Not at all." He chuckled. "Will you be watching?"

"Yup. I hope you lose." She smirked.

Harry laughed loudly. "I hope _you_ lose. I've got to go, though. See you."

"See you."

When Harry left, Hermione turned to leave. As she spun around, she found her friends giving her intrigued looks.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" She asked.

"Getting cozy with Potter, eh, Lestrange?" Theo asked accompanied with a mischievous smirk.

She looked down at her clothes and pretended to brush away a hair strand. "We were just talking about our potion."

Daphne raised a perfect brow. "Mm-hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing," said Daphne.

She mimicked her, raising a brow as well. "Right… well we don't want to be late. Let's hurry or we won't get the good seats." Hermione pivoted and started walking towards the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

Slytherin had lost.

They had been in the lead for most of the game. Hermione and the rest of Slytherin House had cheered without rest despite the pouring rain. Their score was almost definitely a winning one… and then Harry had caught the Snitch a half-second before Draco did.

The Slytherins were rioting. They called Harry foul names, damning him to hell. Her friends, in particular, described in disturbing detail what they wanted to do with Harry's mangled corpse. Hermione stayed silent, watching the occurring exchange of Quidditch players below.

Draco was not in a good mood. Flint and the rest of the team had been giving him scathing glares since Lee Jordan had announced Gryffindor's victory.

Before the match began, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Draco would be distracted by his mother's letter. As soon as she thought it, her fingers clutched the wooden railing in front of her and hadn't let go. She had hoped and prayed that that wouldn't be the case, but her fears were confirmed.

Students and teachers had left quickly because of the dark sky and rainfall, and soon, only Hermione, Daphne, Theo, and the Slytherin team were left in the pitch. The three decided to wait for Draco and Pansy before retreating back to the Gryffindor team had already gone to celebrate in their tower.

"—idiotic!" Flint had been yelling. "The fastest broom in the world, and you couldn't even beat the scarred wanker with vision problems? Are you even taking this seriously, Malfoy?"

Hermione took Daphne's hand in hers as she watched. Draco did nothing to defend himself from Flint's verbal assaults. He looked at something in the distance impassively as if he hadn't just caused a loss for the team. Pansy was looking more livid—not at Draco, but at Flint, probably at the way he talked down her friend. They all wore identical masks of rage directed at the blond… all but one. Someone on the team was smiling arrogantly—Terrence Higgs. "Edmund would have done a much better job than you, and he's a clumsy oaf!"

Draco was silent. The only indication that he had heard him was the vein that twitched as he clenched his jaw.

Pansy spoke up against her captain. "Stop it! You already know Malfoy's home was raided! Don't you think that's punishment enough?"

Surprisingly, Flint hadn't moved. "Yeah, and clearly he deserved it!" Flint looked at Draco. "Why don't you run back home to mummy, hmm? Make daddy buy us all gloves this time or new uniforms." He chuckled darkly. "This was a mistake. We shouldn't have made you Seeker, you useless fuck."

Hermione had enough. She let go of Daphne's hand and stepped forward. "Hey!" She stormed into the pitch, robes flaring in the wind. Behind her, Daphne and Theo stayed rooted to the spot, dumbstruck at their friend's nerve. Draco's head finally snapped up. She continued. "That's enough!" She faced Marcus Flint. "How insensitive can you get? He's already going through hell!"

Draco's eyes widened at her. He shook his head vigorously, signaling for her to shut up. It was the first time he acknowledged her properly in two months.

With narrowed eyes, Flint said, "This is the team's private huddle. You're not supposed to be here, little girl."

"It is certainly _not_ private. Everyone within a five-kilometer radius can hear you mocking Draco, and it isn't fair!" She yelled.

"Lestrange, just go," Draco said, taking her wrist and pushing her away. Hermione wrestled her arm out of his grasp. She ignored him, giving the captain her most feral glare.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt his wee little feelings? Hmm? Want me to write him an apology card? Or perhaps give him a big hug? Is that what you want, _little girl_?"

"Don't call me a little girl _,_ " Hermione growled under her breath. Lestranges were known for their unstable tempers and destructive lunacy. Because of this, some members of the team stepped back. They were smart to do so. Hermione was on the cusp of exploding in rage.

Before Hermione could unleash her wrath, Draco exploded first. "I said stop it, Lestrange!" He paused, heaving. Hermione was shocked. In a few seconds, hurt replaced shock as she realized Draco was angry at her, instead of Flint who was publicly persecuting him. Draco continued, "You know what—"

He stormed off.

Hermione stared at his retreating back. She was absolutely speechless. From the corner of her eyes, Pansy was shaking her head disappointedly… at Draco or at herself, Hermione didn't know.

The silence was broken by Higgs. "Fantastic!" he said. "I'm back to Seeker, then, hmm?"

Hermione didn't stick around to find out. She fled the Quidditch pitch, set on confronting or comforting Draco… whichever suited his mood.

She found him angrily making his way down to the dungeons.

"Draco!" She called after him. "Draco, wait!"

Draco stopped, surprising Hermione. She bumped into him as he turned, and she was about to apologize when he spoke.

"Leave me alone, Lestrange!"

"No, I won't! Our friendship has been dreadful for two months, and I'm trying to make it up to you," Hermione admitted.

"Make it up to me?" He asked, towering over her. " _Make it up to me?_ You think you're making it up to me? Embarrassing me like that in front of the team? Whatever that was, it certainly wasn't 'making it up to me'."

She raised her voice. "I just thought I—"

He seethed, "Did you think I needed your help? Because I don't. I don't need your help. I never have, and I never will. Just back off."

"How come Pansy's allowed to stick up for you but I can't?"

He pointed a finger at her. " _Pansy_ stuck up for me; _you_ overstepped your boundaries. Learn the difference."

Hermione was reduced to embarrassed silence. "I'm sorry." She said quietly.

"Yeah, I don't care. I know you're only sorry because of Mother's letter, so take your pity party elsewhere.

"Draco, that's not what I meant! I really am sorry—"

"Do me a favor and _fuck off_ , alright?"

Draco walked out on her for the second time in the same hour.

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. It was half-past midnight, and normally, she should have been out cold by this hour. She couldn't bring herself to shut her eyes for more than a minute, so she read… or pretended to, anyway.

Daphne had noticed that her friend was still up, wand lit to illuminate the textbook perched on her knees. Daphne also noticed that Hermione hadn't turned a single page since she sat down. Obviously, something was bothering her best friend. She had intervened, then, telling her about her day to distract her from whatever was plaguing her mind. They had been chatting since eleven.

"—and I was surprised, to say the least. We barely even spoke while doing the potion, but we still earned an eighty-four from Snape. It's crazy." Daphne had been saying.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, but I think Snape just favors me, you know?" They giggled.

Everybody else in their dorm room was asleep. The two girls made sure to keep their voices down, lest they woke them.

"How was Dean Thomas as a partner, though?" Hermione asked.

"Eh. He was alright, I guess. He did most of the work. He only told me to fetch the ingredients or stir the cauldron, whatever." She paused. "You know what, though? Dean Thomas is kind of... cute."

Hermione looked at her incredulously. "I didn't know he was your type. I thought your type was more skinny, sickly-looking, pale, with a dry sense of humor and a Slytherin tie. Boys who go by the name Theodore Nott."

Daphne chuckled softly. "Yeah… no. He just wanted to be friends." That much was obvious. Since the day Daphne had kissed Theo, he hadn't made any moves to acknowledge it ever happened. He did, however, refer to Daphne publicly as his friend on more than one occasion. Like last week, he had asked for her to pass the sauce, and had thanked her by saying, 'you're the friendliest friend ever.' Daphne could not have been more friend-zoned.

"Are you alright?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Daphne hesitated before saying, "I'm going to be honest with you, Hermione, because you're my best friend. I wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but… I'm hurt. I'm really hurt."

Hermione took her hand and rubbed circles on the back of it. "Oh, Daph."

Her eyes grew glassy. "He never told me no, technically, so I haven't been rejected. I've just been…" she paused. "Ignored. And the crazy thing is," Daphne sat up straighter. "It sort of hurts more. It was like… he didn't even think I was worthy of an answer, you know?"

"No, well, what if Theo was just shy?"

She gave her a look. "Theo isn't shy. He isn't the type to be shy."

"You're right, he isn't." Hermione nodded. "At least your potions partner's cute, right?"

Daphne nodded. "He is kind of—" her mouth opened in a wide 'o' as she yawned silently. "—cute."

Hermione squeezed her hand. "Alright, enough chit-chat. It's time for you to go to bed, Blabbermouth." She used her friend's childhood nickname, coaxing a sleepy laugh from Daphne as she rose from Hermione's bedside.

"If you say so, Know-it-all."

As Daphne settled into bed, she said one last thing to Hermione before she drifted. "I hope you're okay, Hermione. I know the raid has been bothering you the whole day… also the whole Malfoy situation, too, even if you won't admit it. We're here for you, you know."

"I know. Love you, Daph."

"Love you too, 'Mione. G'night." Not even ten seconds later, Daphne was snoring.

Hermione, try as she might, still couldn't bring herself to get some shut-eye. Finally, twenty minutes later, she began getting irritated at her own body clock for not doing its job. She thought of calming scenes like wind-blown grass, libraries, and the underwater view of the Great Lake to try and coax her to sleep. Then she realized that her room had a view of the last of her visions. However, when Hermione opened her eyes, she found the curtains drawn on the windows. Instead of creeping around and opening them, she stood, pocketed her wand, and tip-toed out of her dorm room to walk into the common room.

Nobody was there... or so she had initially thought. Hermione perched herself on a tall window's ledge and watched the moon's reflection on dark water. She could tell that the rain hadn't stopped from the window's view. She leaned her forehead on the cool glass, closing her eyes.

Someone sniffed, startling Hermione.

Next to the fireplace, there was a hunched figure clad in silk pajamas.

"Draco?" She asked.

He turned his head to look behind him and indeed, it was Draco. He looked exhausted. Like herself, he hadn't gotten much sleep either. He was seated, cross-legged at the foot of a settee in front of the fire. Hermione hopped off the window's ledge and tentatively made her way to him. She sat on the right side of the settee.

"Can't sleep?"

Draco shook his head 'no'.

 _Well at least he didn't ignore me,_ Hermione thought. Outwardly, she said, "Neither can I." She sensed that he was too sad to care about the fact that he was supposed to be angry with her for intervening on his behalf earlier.

The crackling fire, floating bubbles out the window, the faint rainfall, and steady breathing was enough to lull Hermione into the sleep she coveted, but she resisted. She had a feeling Draco wasn't up in the common room this late at night just to sleep. No, he was here for a different reason, and Hermione was going to find out.

The blond stared intently at the flickering fire with a determined look on his face… as if he expected something to come out of it. Draco's face would light up and turn hopeful whenever something crackled or made an unusual sound. He schooled his expressions back to determination whenever nothing happened.

Realization dawned on Hermione. He was waiting for a fire-call. She put together the pieces and came to the conclusion that he had hoped his mother would reach out to him at this time.

"Is Narcissa going to fire-call?"

Draco sighed quietly. Hermione had thought that that was the extent of his replies tonight, but he answered after a few minutes. "I don't know."

Hermione's heart shattered for the boy. She knew he was in pain. He was worried about his parents and their safety, and a brief letter from his mother did nothing to quell his concern. She felt the need to do something for him to comfort him somehow. Narcissa _did_ ask her to look out for him.

She stood from the couch, startling Draco. "Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me." She repeated.

"Where?"

Hermione didn't give him an answer. Instead, she extended her arm to him, palm faced up. He stared at her hand doubtfully, but after a few seconds, took it.

She led them out of the Slytherin common room, tiptoeing quietly.

"Where are we going?"

"Shh," she reprimanded quietly. "Be quiet."

The Hogwarts corridors were blanketed in complete darkness, save for the pale moonlight glimmering on a crack of a glass window or some other. Staircases loomed over the pair, but she knew exactly how many steps there were, undeterred. It did not bother Hermione. She had long memorized the path to her destination. She could navigate it in her sleep. Their footsteps were almost completely silent for the pitter-patter of rain on the stone outside masked their sounds.

The Astronomy Tower was incredibly chilly, what with the November air and the breeze from the rainfall. Hermione and Draco wore no coats or even robes, but thankfully Hermione had brought her wand. She took it out of her pocket and cast a warming charm on them both.

The pair walked towards the rail. No words were exchanged, only a sad smile from Draco to Hermione. They watched the rustling trees swaying side-to-side down below. The stars were invisible as big nimbostratus clouds blocked them from view. Hermione could extend a hand outwards and it would be engulfed in a cloud.

A comfortable silence fell on the two. Hermione was content to just stay that way, basking in each other's presence. It was nice, if not sort of sad because of the reason they were there in the first place.

Draco broke the silence after a while. "I'm sorry I got angry at you."

Hermione looked at him. It was very unlike Draco to be vulnerable. "It's alright. What I did was out of line, you were right." She paused. "Pansy asked me to never do it again, did you know?"

He shook his head. "No, not just about earlier today—or yesterday, technically, but for the past months. I was angry at you over something really stupid." Draco paused. "I'm also sorry about today, though. I was frustrated at myself and I took it out on you. Sorry."

"Oh," she sighed. "Apology accepted."

Draco smiled and looked away. "I've missed you, you know."

"I've missed you too. We avoided each other for the longest time."

"That's my fault. I know you tried reaching out but I ignored you. I was just so angry that you weren't there to see me try out for the team, you know? You promised me you'd be there, then you just… weren't."

"I had to collect worms with Potter," she protested.

"I know. I've been unfair on you, is all. I got lucky Brown didn't want anything to do with the assignment." He paused, extending his right hand towards the rain and catching a bit of water from the sky. He kept his hand there, letting the water pool and overflow.

"Let's never fight again." He said so quietly, Hermione almost didn't hear him over the roar of the storm.

Draco shook his right hand of any dampness and offered his left for her to shake.

Hermione looked at his hand for a second and pushed it away, throwing her arms around his neck instead. Draco made a small 'oomph' at the collision. After the surprise had faded, Draco wound his arms around her back, nuzzling his face in her curly hair. He breathed in deeply and her scent filled his nostrils. He smiled. Yes, he missed her very much.

Draco and Hermione stayed that way for a whole minute. They hadn't realized it, but their heartbeats were so synchronized, they wouldn't be able to distinguish one from the other. At that moment, all weight had been lifted off of their shoulders. Hermione completely forgot about her friends' bullying and her abysmal Potions marks, while Draco's worries about his parents were squashed. Unbeknownst to them, they had both been looking for the same relief… and they had found it in the arms of one another.

Before they pulled away, Hermione placed a chaste little kiss on his cold cheek, much like he did two months ago. She watched him turn pink.

In the months that followed, Draco and Hermione had returned to being closer than ever. Daphne was the first to notice, firing rapid questions at Hermione about how they had made up after two long months. Everybody else noticed as well, including Harry and Ron who had commented on the spring in Hermione's step ever since that night.

Draco was not kicked out of his position as Seeker, and he delivered this news to Hermione with an enthusiastic hug. They had been doing that a lot—hugging. They had also been holding hands or maintaining some other kind of physical contact with one another, albeit unconsciously.

As the school year came to a close in June, Draco and Hermione had completely forgotten about their row. Draco had also proven himself worthy of the Seeker's position. After the first game that had ended dreadfully for the whole team, Draco hadn't missed the Golden Snitch since. Slytherin had won the Quidditch cup that year because of that very reason.

The House cup, however, went to Gryffindor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had called a draw on it and continued their friendly rivalry well into the next year.

Hermione and Draco visited their Astronomy Tower as often as they could. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they studied, sometimes they just sat in complete silence for an hour before retreating back into their rooms, lest they were caught by a ghost or a professor. They hadn't brought anybody else with them. Their friends knew the pair escaped to the Tower on some nights, but nobody had asked to come along. It was understood by all.

The Astronomy Tower was _their_ thing.

And it would continue to be.

Until their sixth year.


	11. Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i updated the chapter names!

August 31, 1993

  
  


**_THIRD YEAR_ **

Narcissa watched from the corner of her eye as Hermione poked a piece of tuna on her plate with her fork. Subtly, she slipped her hand with the fork under the table, eyes trained on Draco as he talked about Quidditch strategies with his father, who was equally as occupied. After three seconds, the fork reappeared, sans tuna.

The Malfoy took a glance at the floor where a brand new orange half-Kneazle was munching away at the piece of fish. Crookshanks purred contentedly.

Narcissa chuckled very lightly, and Hermione’s eyes made their way to her. The young girl smiled shyly, having been caught in the act. Her cheeks turned pink.

Hermione and Narcissa then had a very brief nonverbal conversation, conveyed through glances and sheepish smiles. It went like this:

_Tut-tut, Hermione. We do not feed our pets scraps from the table._

_I’m sorry, Narcissa. I couldn’t help it._

_I know, little one. Don’t do it again._

_Yes, Narcissa_.

The men were clueless as they droned on and on about flying techniques, torque, and the like. Hermione stabbed her fish again, but this time, politely slipped the piece into her mouth. She made a show of licking her lips and humming in delight after. Draco looked at her, mildly intrigued at her reaction to the food.

The Malfoys usually excluded Hermione from mealtimes regularly, but today was a special occasion. It would be their last day spent in the Manor, for they wouldn’t even be coming home for the Yuletide holidays come winter. Narcissa wanted Draco and Hermione to be far, far away when the Manor is raided again, which could happen at any time.

Narcissa’s concern for the Muggleborn meant that she was rather fond of her. She was more than pleased to see that she had emerged at the top of her year for the second time in a row, and she knew that it wouldn’t be the last. It seemed as if Hermione was good at everything she did. She had also bloomed into a rather good-looking teen this past couple of months. With Narcissa’s training, she was able to school her into ladylike customs. New Glamour charms were passed down to the girl to fit her age. They included complexion-smoothing, cheek-pinking, bosom-enhancing, and waist-cinching charms, to name a few. She was certainly able to… _somewhat_ mend the Lestrange family’s infamous reputation, which was what Narcissa had dared to hope for upon taking the girl away from her Muggle parents. 

She understood why, all of a sudden, Draco had taken a subtle liking to her. This troubled her, however. It certainly would not do for him to marry anybody with blood that was less pure than his. Narcissa’s fondness for Hermione did not extend so far as to accept her as her daughter-in-law. Something must be done to avert his attention if he does fall in love with the girl someday. The Malfoy-Black line must not be sullied, no matter how much Narcissa was fond of the Muggleborn posing as her family. For now, she allowed them to flirt like puppies. It reminded her of her own youth with other boys. Not Lucius, no. Her relationship with her husband has always been a financial arrangement done to preserve bloodlines and money. His period of courting her was void of flirtation and butterflies, so to speak.

Thinking of Hermione always brought Narcissa a sense of unease, though, it didn’t usually bother her. Tonight, however, she felt her instincts alarming her for something she didn’t understand. She reassured herself quietly that she had obliviated the girl’s parents efficiently… but deep down, she knew she wasn’t in the clear yet. This would come back to bite her one day. She just didn’t know when. 

To be completely honest, Narcissa had expected the girl’s real parents to come storming in several years ago. Every day, she waited. She admitted to herself that she hadn’t been as thorough as she wanted with her memory modification. If Dana and Richard Granger had had any magical blood at all, they would have figured it out by now. 

_But,_ Narcissa tried to reassure herself, _I sent them to another continent. There’s no way they could possibly figure it out on their own._ On that note, Narcissa pushed the thought out of her head altogether. 

“Are you packed and ready to leave in the morning, Draco?” She asked her son when the Quidditch conversation with his father came to a close. 

“Yes, mother.”

“And you, Hermione?”

“I am.”

“Good. We leave at ten-thirty, understood?” 

“Understood,” they said at the same time.

After supper, Hermione excused herself from the dining table. She slipped out the door and into the Manor’s foyer, quietly making her way to the music room where the old pianoforte was sitting idly.

The piano in the guest house had been taken by the Ministry in one of their raids, so all summer long, Hermione had made use of the antique instrument in the main house to practice her note-reading and dexterity. It had a certain charm to it that the smaller piano did not. The notes would echo and ricochet against the music room’s walls, causing it to develop a rather ethereal quality.

She opened the music room’s doors and sauntered to the pianoforte

The first tune she played was a slow Nocturne. Hermione was so proficient, she had no trouble playing with her eyes closed, so that was precisely what she did. She poured her heart and soul into the right crescendos, staccatos, and trills. The result was sublime. The next song she played was a little more complicated with its uncommon time signature and strong bass notes. She did not close her eyes for this one, for it was meant to be played with a little more force than delicacy. As she concluded the song, she was startled by a slow clap in a far corner of the room. She turned to the sound.

“I have to admit, I don’t think I’m ever going to play that piece as well as you do,” Draco said.

She chuckled. “Didn’t see you there.”

“You weren’t supposed to. Otherwise, I’d have distracted you with my megawatt smile.”

Hermione said with a roll of her brown eyes, “Sure.” She stood from the chair and gestured to it. “Play for me?”

He looked at the empty seat with skepticism. “I don’t know… I’m not that good.”

“Nonsense. You had an excellent teacher, so you should be fine.”

"Excellent? In your dreams." Draco rolled his eyes at her but sat on the bench nonetheless.

Over the summer holidays, Hermione had practiced her piano skills almost every day. As a result, Draco had requested for her to teach him the ropes of note-reading and piano-playing as well. Draco was a good student. He learned from his mistakes—Hermione never needed to correct him more than once. 

The song he played now was of intermediate difficulty, for he refused to learn by playing nursery rhymes. It felt a little like learning about multiplication before addition, but she had been patient with him. Draco was not a bad musician. There were even times when he pulled off songs that Hermione wasn’t sure she would have without difficulty. His hand was also bigger than hers; it was able to span a much wider range of keys.

Draco hit a sour note.

“Ah, shit.”

“It’s okay, keep going.”

“Okay, erm...” He frowned. “Where was I?” 

“Your left hand is supposed to be at an E-diminished, followed by two inversions.”

“E-diminished followed by… what?”

“Here, like this.” Hermione placed her smaller hand over his, positioning her fingers over the correct notes and moving his in the process. “This is an E-diminished. And this,” she lifted his hand and fixed his fingers on the same chord but a different inversion. “Is its first inversion. For the second inversion, you just move the chord up like... this.” Hermione demonstrated again.

She turned her head to check if he understood, but he was looking right at her. Hermione then realized that when she had bent over to show him the correct finger placement, she moved a lot closer to him. Their faces were a mere five inches away. She could very clearly see each individual silver speck of his iris from this angle.

They both recoiled at the same time at the sudden intimacy. Hermione’s face reddened.

Draco turned back to the pianoforte and positioned his hands on the correct keys, as Hermione had instructed. He began to play where he had left off.

Two minutes later, he finished the song with a grand chord spanning five octaves—something Hermione would never be able to do because of her smaller hands. Draco said, “It definitely still needs polishing, but—"

“Draco, you were great!”

“No I wasn’t, I made a mistake with the inversions.”

“ _One_ mistake. You made _one_ mistake. Great musicians make mistakes, too, you know.”

“Oh?” He raised his brows. “So you’re saying I’m a great musician?”

Hermione scoffed in jest. “Certainly not! Merlin forbid that your ego inflates even larger than it already is.”

He stood from the bench and shoved her shoulder playfully. “Oh, it’s definitely what I heard. You said, ‘oh Draco you’re such a great musician, your album would sell out in _seconds_ —’” He mocked, raising his voice to mimic Hermione’s higher pitch.

Hermione laughed. To Draco, that one sound was more beautiful than the pieces of musical brilliance either of them had ever played on the pianoforte. At that moment, Draco decided that it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He would never stop trying to fish it out of her in the future.

She punched his side. Hard.

Any prior thoughts about how nice Hermione’s laugh flew out of his head as the sharp pain registered. “ _Ow_ , you bint, that hurt!” 

She laughed again, preparing to spring in case he tried to retaliate.

And retaliate, he did. “Oh, you’re in for it now,” said he. Draco chased Hermione around the music room, shrieking and giggling all the while. He was faster, but she was lighter, and therefore more agile. She used this to her advantage as she ran around bends and curves. Still, Draco followed her like a kneazle after a mouse.

Minutes later, both of them were in stitches. Hermione plopped on the long settee to catch her breath, and Draco fell with his head atop her thighs. She had trouble putting a stopper to the giggles brought by their wild goose chase, but one look at Draco’s face below her sobered her up immediately.

He was staring at her again.

It only lasted for a single second. Draco stood right up after their eyes met and straightened his shirt. Hermione played with the hair tie on her wrist. A pale hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to find Draco extending his hand for her to stand as well. She took it.

“I’ll… just be heading home, then.” Said Hermione.

“Right. So will I. Not—not home, but to my room. Cause, you know… I’m already home.” He mumbled the last part, embarrassed at having over-explained it.

“Yep.”

“Goodnight.” He nodded his head, not meeting her eyes.

“‘Night.”

The two parted ways.

* * *

  
  


September 1, 1993

  
  


“Guess what?” Daphne hollered at Hermione and Millie whilst unpacking in their dorm room. Anya and Scarlett—their two other roommates—had unpacked earlier and were probably already down in the Great Hall. 

“What?” Hermione asked, sitting on her trunk to get it to shut.

“You know how Dean Thomas and I have been hanging around each other for a bit since the summer holidays?”

“Mhmm…” She hummed in reply, too preoccupied with the overflowing trunk to give a verbal answer. Millie merely grunted, studying her face in a compact mirror. The girl had given up doing slimming charms completely. Milicent decided that asking her friends for help with said charms was worse than _not_ getting charmed at all. Over the summer, her mother had done them for her... and thus was back to the skinnier look she had been sporting in their First year.

“Well… I think he’s going to ask me out to Hogsmeade soon,” said Daphne perkily.

“Really? Why?”

Daphne cocked her head. “Because…” She paused. “Um, well… because it’s the normal thing to do when you like someone…?” She trailed off in a question-like manner.

“How are you even sure he likes you back?” Millie asked.

“I mean, I _think_ he does. Otherwise, why did he agree to meet with me thrice?”

“Because you told him you wanted him to tutor you in _Potions_ , of all things,” said Millie. “Which, by the way, was an incredibly stupid excuse because everyone and their mother know that Lestrange the Know-it-all is your best friend.”

Daphne ignored the insult. “Still. I think he’s going to ask me out.”

Over the summer, Daphne had been lying to her parents about meeting up with Dean. She had told them that she was at Malfoy Manor with Hermione, instead of Diagon Alley with her brand new beau. Her parents allowed her, then… although the lie was rather unnecessary because Daphne’s parents were considerably more lenient than others. They let Astoria and Daphne do virtually anything they pleased as long as they assured them they were being safe.

“Wait a second,” Millie said, turning to face Daphne. “Dean Thomas… what House is he from?”

“Gryffindor, why?” Daphne asked. Hermione jumped and sat on her trunk, putting all her weight on it to force it shut, but to no avail.

She scoffed harshly. “Ha! Drop him, Daphne. He won’t do for you.”

“What, why?” She frowned.

“Gryffindor’s home to so many Mudbloods. This beau of yours could be one of them. Do you really want to be associated with someone so dirty?”

Daphne mumbled quietly, “He’s not my beau...” Louder she said, “And besides, he’s a half-blood.”

“Since when was _that_ more acceptable?”

Before Millie got the chance to properly raise her voice, Hermione’s trunk clicked shut, and she piped up, “I’m sure Dean will ask you to Hogsmeade, Daph. Now come, let’s go to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.” She successfully stopped Millie’s verbal assault before it started.

At supper, Hermione witnessed the not-quite-subtle way Daphne flirted with Dean all the way across the room. They had sat in such a way that Dean was in her direct line of vision, but not exactly right in front of each other. She switched places with Hermione, wanting her good side to face the boy. As a result, Draco was next to Hermione. 

As they ate, he also noticed the exchanged glances between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor. To Hermione’s surprise, however, he was not here for it. 

“Why’s that Mudblood making eyes at Greengrass?”

Hermione looked up from her food and found Draco angrily glaring at Dean. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” She tried lying innocently. 

Draco’s brow furrowed. Hastily, Hermione added, “and he’s not a Mudblood. He’s a half-blood, so it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Look at him, he practically _screams_ Muggle.”

Hermione did look at him, finding no indication that Dean Thomas was a Mudblood, much less a Muggle. _I think you’re wrong_ , she wanted to tell him but refused. Draco looked positively murderous at the thought of someone less than pure being associated with one of his friends. 

Instead, she merely shrugged, understanding the hatred that people like Draco and Millicent harbored for Muggles and by extension, Mudbloods. Lucius, Narcissa, Madam Rosier, and every other adult in her youth stressed the importance of blood purity to the children. Silently, she thanked the gods (or whoever was responsible for the genetic lottery) that she hadn’t been born a Mudblood. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be surrounded by the friends she had now.

* * *

  
  


Slytherin and Gryffindor were having Care of Magical Creatures together, which meant that Hermione was in the same class as Harry and Ron. Hagrid—their professor in the subject—led them into the forest, presumably to introduce them to a creature of some sort to kick off the lessons.

“I’m so glad Hagrid’s our professor,” said Harry. 

“Me too, mate. This is bound to get interesting!”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “My Housemates don’t think so. They say he’s unqualified... so we have to be wary.”

“Wary? What? That’s not true at all! Hagrid’s dealt with so many magical creatures before, and I just _know_ he’ll do a great job.”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

Later, Hagrid introduced them to a massive and regal-looking Hippogriff that appeared to be a cross between a horse and a bird. He gave instructions on how to make its acquaintance and asked for a volunteer. Ever the Gryffindor, Harry stepped up to the plate.

After Harry had taken a quick fly on Buckbeak’s back, Ron and Hermione rushed to his side.

“That was amazing, Harry!” Hermione said enthusiastically.

“How did it feel?”

Harry laughed, panting in exhaustion. “Like flying on a broom… if the broom were five times larger and had a mind of its own.”

The trio walked away, giving the next person in line a go.

“The Hippogriff wasn’t rough or anything?”

“On the contrary,” Harry shrugged. “He was rather gentle.”

Draco had been watching them since Hermione left his side in favor of Scarhead and the Sidekick. He glared at Potter as Hermione shoved his shoulder playfully, eliciting a round of laughter. Anger bubbled up inside him. He beckoned Crabbe and Goyle to come with him. They approached the Hippogriff.

_If Potter can do it, I sure as hell can do it better._

Draco bowed, and Buckbeak followed.

He scoffed. “This is very easy. I knew it must’ve been… if Potter could do it. I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you? Are you, you great ugly brute?”

_SLASH!_

Hermione heard a high-pitched scream.

“I’m dying!” Draco screeched. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!” The class panicked.

Hermione abandoned the Gryffindors immediately and rushed to Draco’s side.

“ _Merlin!”_ She cursed, seeing the long, deep dash spanning his forearm. His blood trickled down his arm and onto the grass below it, staining it a bright crimson.

“Yer not dyin’!” Said Hagrid, suddenly looking very pale. “Someone help me—gotta get him outta here—”

“Hagrid! He has to be taken to the Hospital!” Hermione insisted, cradling Draco’s arm. 

“I’m the teacher, I’ll do it.” Hagrid easily swooped Draco into his arms and carried him. Hermione ran to open the gate. 

Hagrid ran up the path towards the castle. The class was left very shaken at Buckbeak’s attack and the sudden dismissal of class. Hermione’s eyes found Daphne’s, and she grimaced. She joined her Slytherin friends as they walked back up the trek.

“They should sack him straight away!” Pansy said, nearly in tears.

“Yeah, Malfoy could have died!” Blaise said heatedly.

“It was Malfoy’s fault!” Dean snapped at the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles intimidatingly, causing the boy to shut his mouth. Daphne grimaced.

As soon as they were in the castle, Pansy turned and said, “I’m going to see if he’s okay! Hermione, do you want to come?” 

Hermione need not answer. She ran up the marble staircase, Pansy hot on her heels.

It was quite a long journey to the Hospital Wing. As soon as they got there, the two girls panted heavily in exertion. Draco was lying on a thin, scratchy-looking mattress supported by the thinnest metal bed frame Hermione has ever seen. Madam Pomfrey was bent over him, casting a blue charm on the affected area.

Hagrid was standing at the threshold. As the girls passed him, Pansy gave the Care of Magical Creatures professor a scathing glare. “He should get fired.” She muttered as he was out of sight.

“Shh, Pans, he can hear you.”

“I don’t give a shite.”

They stood at the foot of Draco’s bed, watching Madam Pomfrey cast spells. The wound was already closed and bloodless. What used to be an angry gash was now a mere shallow pink scratch. Hermione was in awe.

“What spell is that, Madam Pomfrey, if I may ask?”

The older witch looked at Hermione briefly, her brows still furrowed in concentration. It was only a flicker of her eyes, for she trained them on Draco’s scar again. Hermione waited for her to finish casting spells.

Finally, she said, “It’s a basic bandaging spell. _Ferula_ ,” She said. “Friends of yours, Mr. Malfoy?”

The boy in question was still looking pale, but his cheeks definitely had more color than they did when he was lying on the grass. He replied with a single nod, still in pain.

“You girls wait for him outside while I put his arm in a sling, alright?”

Pansy and Hermione turned towards the door, finding that Hagrid had already gone. Pansy leaned on the wall.

“D’ya think he’s gonna be alright?” She asked Hermione.

She nodded. “The wound was looking much better. I think he’ll be fine.”

“Good. He was making such a fuss, too. I really thought he’d broken a bone.”

Hermione only chuckled. Deep inside, however, she was surprised at Pansy’s concern for him. She hadn’t known the girl was close enough with Draco that she’d follow him to the Hospital Wing. Even Crabbe and Goyle had stayed behind.

The witch shook her head to dispel her thoughts. _So what if Pansy cared for Draco? Isn’t that a good thing?_ Hermione asked herself.

However, she couldn’t help asking. “Do you care for Draco, Pans?” As soon as she blurted it, she immediately regretted it.

Pansy’s brows drew together, and the girl’s cheeks reddened. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing, forget I asked,” Hermione said hastily.

“No, Hermione I heard you. You asked if I care for Draco.”

Hermione looked at her shoes sheepishly. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I was just curious, is all.”

To her surprise, Pansy chuckled. Hermione lifted her head to look at the raven-haired girl in confusion. “What’s funny?”

Pansy stared at her, eyes crinkled in mirth. She answered her first question. “Yes, I do care for Malfoy.” Said Pansy with much conviction. There was also a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Hermione’s shoulders sagged infinitesimally. “Oh,” she said, dejected. “That’s great, Pans, I—”

“As a friend,” Pansy added.

“What?”

“I do care for Malfoy, but only as a friend.” She laughed out loud, then. Hermione raised a brow in disbelief. Pansy continued, “don’t worry, ‘Mione, everybody knows you two are practically… _destined_ to be together one of these days.” The mischievous glint in her eyes grew ever more evident as she regarded Hermione amusedly.

Hermione was dumbfounded into silence.

Pansy stepped forward and pinched Hermione’s cheek. “Green is a good color on you.”

“I’m not jealous.” She denied. “Also, Draco and I aren’t…” she leaned in to whisper, “like that.”

The girl chuckled. “Sure. I’m just saying, you’ve no reason to be jealous of me and Malfoy. Besides,” she added. “He’s not my type.”

Before Hermione was able to defend her _not-feelings_ for Draco, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the threshold. She said, “Ladies, you may come in.”

Draco was seated upright on the bed, no longer pale. The injured arm was all bandaged up in a brace and covered in a pastel green sling. His Malfoy family crest ring was on his finger, untouched.

“You’re looking better,” Hermione said.

“Yeah… still don’t _feel_ better, though.” He said, frowning.

“You’ll feel better in no time, lad.” Said Madam Pomfrey, materializing beside them. “No Quidditch for three weeks if you want a speedy recovery. That includes training, too. Nothing physical, do you understand?”

He nodded.

“Good. Off you go, then. Come back in two weeks so I could remove the sling.”

* * *

  
  


October 29, 1993

Daphne burst through the doors.

“Hermione!” She hollered, running towards her with the enthusiasm of a six-digit lottery winner. “Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!”

“Hush, Daph, we’re in the library,” Hermione chastised sternly, getting a sense of secondhand embarrassment. Daphne stopped in her tracks, taking in the rows upon rows of old tomes on the shelves and the irritated glances sent her way by other occupants of the library who were trying to study. The brunette shrugged unapologetically as she plopped down on the chair next to Hermione.

“Guess what?” she half-asked, half-shouted excitedly.

“Shh, tell me quietly.”

She did _not_ tell her quietly, “Dean Thomas and I are going to Hogsmeade together!” Her grin stretched from ear to ear. People openly glared. From behind Daphne, Hermione spotted Madam Pince. She raised a single brow and regarded the two girls with a cold scowl, raising her hand and jabbing her thumb backward as if to say, ‘get out’.

Hermione mouthed at the librarian, ‘sorry’. 

To Daphne, she whispered, “okay, wait.” Clearly, they needed to leave if Daphne was going to continue shrieking at the top of her lungs. Hermione gathered her materials and textbooks, stuffing them into her bag. “Hold that thought. Let’s go outside.”

Once outside, Daphne wasted no time at all. “Dean and I are going to Hogsmeade together, Hermione! Oh, I’m over the moon!”

“I’m so happy for you, Daph!” Hermione gave her a genuine smile. “Did he ask you?”

She nodded, face frozen in a wide grin.

“Well, how’d he ask? Tell me, Blabbermouth!” She joked as Daphne poked her side playfully.

Daphne opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She looked up in thought and her foot made small tapping sounds on the stone beneath. “Actually… did he ask me? I don’t seem to remember…” she trailed off.

“What? Start from the top, maybe?” Hermione suggested.

She nodded. “Right, yeah.” She paused, brows furrowed as she tried to recall the events. Daphne was quiet. She cocked her head to the side. Finally, she said, “Actually, I think I… I think… I think _I_ was the one who asked _him_. I think."

“You think?”

She nodded.

“You don’t seem to be sure, though.”

“No, no.” She looked her in the eye and nodded. “I asked him. I’m sure. Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.” Her smile was quickly fading.

“Well… that’s… good! That’s good, right? Boys don’t always have to make the first move.” Hermione reassured her.

Daphne was no longer smiling. “Is it?” She paused, cupping her cheeks. “Oh no, I look desperate, don’t I?”

“No! No, Daph—”

“I do! I do look desperate! Oh, this is mortifying, Hermione! What if Dean thinks I’m just some shallow bint looking for a boy toy? Ugh, I shouldn’t have asked him—” She then started wailing, making an _‘ughhh’_ sound.

“Daph, hey, listen to me.” Hermione placed her hands on her friend’s shoulders, shaking her and trying to get her to snap out of her spiraling thoughts.

She looked at her, eyes moist and lower lip wobbly. Daphne Greengrass looked like a kicked puppy.

“There’s no problem with being the first to ask. Okay? He was probably going to ask you first but you beat him to it. If you two really are as close as you say, then everything’s fine.”

Hermione practically saw the gears turning in Daphne’s head. 

“Yeah…” She agreed quietly. Louder, she said, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I am,” Hermione affirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “Any boy would be _thrilled_ to go out with you.”

She was now holding her head up high. “They would! And I’m not desperate—” she waved her hand. “—I'm just impatient!”

“Erm, y-yeah, I guess…?” Hermione confusedly agreed, not knowing whether ‘impatient’ was any better.

With newfound confidence, Daphne took Hermione’s hand in hers and led her to the direction of the Slytherin girls’ lavatory.

That very night, the two girls stayed up in front of the mirror as per Daphne’s request. She had asked Hermione to teach her all the glamour spells Narcissa had bequeathed to her before the school year rolled in, as they were much more intricate and elaborate than the ones passed down by her mother. Hermione taught her the bosom charm, the waist charm, the charm that thickens and lengthens lashes, and what-have-you. Before midnight, Daphne had these charms memorized. She tested them on Hermione, and she had nearly botched the bosom charm (which gave Hermione quite a fright as her breasts grew unevenly), but after fixing it, Daphne was more than capable of casting the charms on her own body.

Hermione personally used none of the glamour charms anymore, as there was really no other practical use to them beyond what the eyes see. However, that night, she had had a newfound appreciation for them. She watched as Daphne stepped back from the mirror, looking as radiant as she ever had. The charms barely changed her physique, but its effects transformed her confidence completely. 

In a way, it was a placebo effect. Not much was altered in Daphne’s figure but she carried herself as if all her measurements were exactly right. Of course, it was not completely a placebo, as Daphne had definitely applied the glamour charms onto herself.

As the two girls left the lavatory to go to bed, Daphne asked Hermione out of the blue, “Has Malfoy asked you to Hogsmeade?”

“Hmm?” She looked at her, expecting a smirk on her face, but Daphne’s features were serious. “No. Why, is he going to?”

“Oh.” Daphne frowned. “I just assumed he’d ask you. No matter, though,” She smiled. “We still have tomorrow. I’m sure he’d ask you then. If he doesn't, then you can ask him.”

They entered the room, finding Millie, Scarlett, and Anya fast asleep.

“Things aren’t like that with me and Draco. We’re just friends.” Hermione said. 

“Friends don’t look at each other the way you two do, ‘Mione.”

“No, really. Just friends.”

Daphne shrugged and skipped to her bed. Hermione made her way towards hers, trying to get the idea of her and Draco at Hogsmeade together out of her head. Draco didn’t think about her like that.

On the other side of the Slytherin dungeons in the boys’ dormitory, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco were huddled on the floor. The three boys had made a bet that morning on who could steal the most objects. Of course, they all reckoned that their selves would win. The winner would then earn all stolen items that the other two boys gathered. And bragging rights. Bragging rights were very important.

Crabbe emptied his pockets, the last galleon falling out and tumbling onto the floor noisily. “A textbook, a pair of glasses, some smelly socks, and money. Ha! Try and beat that!”

“Hey! Those socks are mine, those don’t count!” Goyle protested.

“They do so. I stole ‘em.” He stuck his tongue out childishly.

Draco chuckled. “I agree, they do count.”

“Yeah?” Asked Goyle. “Let’s see what you’ve got then, Malfoy. C’mon, show us!”

Draco pulled items out of his bag one by one. He had amassed four galleons, eight sickles, a flask, a bracelet, a handkerchief, and most impressive of all, Professor Trelawney’s red beady headscarf.

“Whoa! How’d you get that?” Asked Crabbe.

Draco chuckled mischievously. “Nicked it right off her head. She was too busy looking through her ‘ _inner eye_ ’ to notice. Complete rubbish, I’m telling you.”

Goyle however, was unimpressed. “Sorry, lads. But I win.”

“Yeah? Show us your lot before you self-declare as the winner, you tosser.”

Goyle really had won. He had stolen two school robes—one Slytherin and the other Ravenclaw, a prefect’s badge, a brasserie (“ _it’s Scarlett Scadfell’s!_ ”), seven rolls of homework from seven vulnerable firsties, a sugar quill, a regular quill, a hair clip, three galleons, and a knut total.

Crabbe and Draco groaned as they surrendered their stolen items to Goyle as the obvious winner. Goyle bellowed loudly, waking one of his roommates.

Goyle counted the coins. “This is perfect. The money alone got me nine galleons! Now I can _really_ treat my dear Lestrange to Madam Puddifotot’s!” He spat.

Draco froze. “What?”

Crabbe answered while Goyle greedily stuffed his pockets with the items he had won. “Tomorrow Goyle’s going to ask Lestrange on a date to Hogsmeade for Sunday. He says he’s going to get snogged, but I reckon Lestrange is going to tell ‘im to go to hell.”

Draco’s thoughts conjured up a mental picture of Goyle with his tongue down Hermione’s throat and his hands roaming her body. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed the vomit that threatened to make itself known. He looked at Goyle. “You’re what?”

“Taking her to Hogsmeade. I’ll even buy her bloody books. Nine galleons! Hell, I’d buy her a whole library if she wants it!” He munched on the sugar quill and parts of it crumbled to pieces. 

“Lestrange’s never going to come with you,” Crabbe said, laughing.

“I’ll _make_ her come.” Goyle said with an evil glint in his eyes, eliciting a chuckle from Crabbe. Draco understood the double entendre as soon as he said it. A fire raged inside of him.

Draco said, “Don’t take her.”

“What?”

“I said don’t take her.”

“Why not?” Goyle raised a brow at him, challenging the blond boy. “Are _you_ planning to?”

“No.” He semi-lied. The thought had indeed entered his head over the past few days, but he saw the way Hermione looked at him. He was certain she didn’t see him that way. “But don’t take her because Crabbe’s right, she’s too good for you. Take Scadfell instead.”

“I don’t care for Scadfell. Besides, I’m sure Lestrange knows I fancy her. She’s probably expecting me to ask her. Girls are like that, you know.” He chuckled and elbowed Crabbe in the ribs.

“Not Lestrange, she isn’t,” Draco said angrily.

Goyle turned to Draco, mirroring his glare. “What’s your problem, mate?”

“Nothing, what’s _your_ problem, _mate_?” Draco stepped forward. 

“If I want to take Lestrange on a date in Hogsmeade, I’m damn well gonna.” Goyle towered over Draco, intimidating him.

Crabbe did nothing, he only watched his two friends try and one-up the other. 

Goyle cracked his knuckles, silently challenging the skinnier blond.

Draco knew he was at a disadvantage. Goyle was much taller and beefier than he, so there was no way he would have agreed to a physical challenge. He had also left his wand back in his bedroom, so he couldn’t have defended himself. Crabbe was obviously not on his side. With an icy glare at Goyle, Draco turned around and stomped back to his dorm room. Blaise and Theo gave him curious looks but ignored him as he drew his curtains shut.

The next day, Draco did not leave Hermione’s side.

It was a Saturday, so they did not have any classes. Still, Draco went everywhere she did, on the lookout for Goyle. This time, he brought his wand.

Draco, Hermione, and Daphne had just eaten lunch in the Great Hall when Hermione decided to get work done. They headed to the library. On the way there, the three of them had run into Pansy and Tracey, so Daphne decided to tag along with them instead. 

Pansy and Tracey looked to be discussing something serious before they crossed paths, as their heads were close together and their brows were furrowed. Draco confirmed it when Pansy sent a pleading look at Hermione after Daphne announced she’d rather hang out with the two girls than with them in the library. Hermione tried convincing Daphne to stay with them instead, but the girl had made up her mind. Hermione shrugged as if telling Pansy nonverbally, ‘ _what can you do?_ ’

So there they sat, Draco and Hermione, in an alcove somewhere towards the back of the library. Their combined homework spanned four and a half tables, and only the two Slytherins occupied the seats meant for eight. They switched from one chair to another, as they never sat in the same spot for too long. They had to move on to another subject as soon as one was finished.

“Is ‘irregardless’ a word?” Draco asked, his eyes trained on the parchment.

“Yes,” Hermione answered. “Though people don’t use it because frankly, it sounds awfully stupid.”

Draco chuckled. “Do you?”

She looked at him with an insulted frown. “Absolutely not.” Her gaze dropped back down to her essay as she said, “I may be a rule-follower, but I’m not a pushover, Draco.”

He only laughed once, crossing out the word from his own essay.

They fell into a comfortable silence.

By the time Hermione broke this silence, Draco had finished writing his essay and had begun proofreading it.

“What’re you going to do about Hagrid?” She asked out of the blue.

He huffed, feeling uncomfortable talking about this with her. He knew that she and her Gryffindorks shared a strange bond over the brute that tried to kill him, so he knew she would try to convince him not to get it slaughtered. 

“My father will handle it,” he said.

Hermione placed her quill down. “He’s going to get Buckbeak killed, isn’t he?”

Draco broke eye contact, pretending instead to go over his essay indifferently. 

Hermione placed her warm hand atop Draco’s.

He looked at her. “Please,” she whispered. “Draco, please tell your father not to press charges. Buckbeak’s innocent.”

He frowned. “Are you saying it’s _my_ fault it tried to rip my arm off?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. Hastily, she added, “i-in a way, it is. You shouldn’t have insulted him. Hippogriffs are very proud creatures, and Hagrid mentioned it before.”

“Then we shouldn’t have had to deal with those creatures in the first place,” he said, unmoving.

She moved seats, choosing the one next to his. “Draco… you know it’s wrong.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about what’s wrong. I need justice.”

“It’s not justice if he’s executed for something that wasn’t his fault,” she stared into his eyes imploringly. “Please…”

Draco glared at the parchment, refusing to meet her eyes. “I know you only want this because of Scarhead and Weasel-bee.”

“No. No, absolutely not. They have nothing to do with this at all. I swear.” She said this so confidently, so certainly, that Draco finally looked at her.

She sighed. “Okay look, if you do this, then I owe you a favor.”

His eyebrow jumped in intrigue. “A favor?”

“Yes. Anything you want. I’m not allowed to refuse. But only one favor. _One._ ”

He thought about this. It was certainly an interesting proposal, and Draco Malfoy never passed up an opportunity to gain leverage above other people... even if they were as close as he and Hermione were.

After a few minutes of putting up a serious front and watching Hermione tense up all over, he finally agreed. “Fine.”

“Yes!” she half-whispered, half-yelled. She squeezed his hand gratefully. “Thank you, oh, you have no idea how much this means to me, no idea—”

“But,” Draco interrupted before she got too excited. “I can ask for the favor at any time, and you are forbidden to withdraw. Under all circumstances, you _must_ do as I ask.”

Hermione was too busy being happy to notice the devious undertone of what he was implying. “Absolutely. You have my word.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Father not to press charges.”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She kissed his cheek lightly and hastily returned to her original seat, not letting Draco see the blush on her cheeks. Little did she know, it was mirrored on his.

At that, they went back to studying.

An hour later, Hermione and Draco’s heads snapped up at the sound of two sets of heavy footfalls on the wooden floor. 

Crabbe and Goyle walked towards them. _Here they come_ , Draco thought. He sat up straighter and gripped his wand under the table. He said to Hermione, “Look, Hermione, Goyle’s about to—”

“I know.”

“What?”

“He’s going to ask me to Hogsmeade. I know.”

“How did you—”

She shrugged. “I figured. Don’t worry, please put your wand away, I’ll deal with it myself.”

They arrived at their table. Goyle’s eyes were glued to Draco’s, narrowed into a glare. They stood, not speaking for what seemed like forever. Hermione cleared her throat after a few seconds, sensing the tension.

Goyle broke his gaze to smile at Hermione. He showed her his teeth, which, by the way, was not a good idea as Hermione cringed at the smudge of chocolate pasted on his gums. “Hi, Crabbe. Goyle.” She nodded at them. “May we help you?” Hermione asked.

“Lestrange,” was all Goyle said.

Hermione smiled politely, though it was strained. Draco’s grip on his wand tightened.

“That’s me.”

He beamed even wider. “It is… yeah.”

It was so painfully awkward, Draco had a difficult time stifling his laugh.

“So…” Hermione began. “What can I do for you?”

“Right. Yeah. Will you… erm…” He fidgeted. Crabbe placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered encouraging words in his friend’s ear. Goyle continued after nodding at whatever Crabbe had said, “Come to Hogsmeade with me?”

Hermione was unfazed. “Sure, yeah. Let’s invite Pansy and Tracey as well. I assume Crabbe’s tagging along?”

“No, no, like…” Goyle stammered. He fidgeted with the headrest of the wooden chair in front of him. “Come to Hogsmeade _on a date_ with me, Lestrange.”

Crabbe, whose hand was hidden behind his back, snuck something small into Goyle’s. It was a yellow dandelion. He extended his arm to give it to Hermione. She looked at it warily, then accepted the small flower.

“Look, Goyle…” she began. Draco leaned back on his chair and smirked smugly. “I think you’re a great friend.”

Goyle—the idiot he was—beamed.

“But,” His smile faltered. “That’s all I see you as. As a friend. I hope you don’t misunderstand me when I tell you that I don’t want to be your date to Hogsmeade.”

Goyle’s brows drew together. “B-but I have money! I saved up for you and I worked hard to get it! Ask Crabbe!” Crabbe nodded his head so fast Draco thought it would topple over.

“I have money too, Greg,” Hermione said simply.

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I’m really sorry.” Except, Hermione was not. “Thank you for the weed.” She laid the dandelion atop her textbook. “It was very sweet.”

Goyle stared on in outrage for five whole seconds—then burst. “No! No! You can’t just reject me, Lestrange! I’m a Goyle! You should be begging _me_ to take you!”

“Excuse me?” She was appalled. 

_This just keeps getting better and better,_ Draco thought.

“You know what,” Goyle leaned in, causing his spit to sprinkle all over Hermione’s homework. “I’m glad we aren’t going to Hogsmeade. I’m too good for you, that’s why. Get off your high horse! You’re nothing but a psychotic bitch—”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Draco stood, his wand in clear sight.

Goyle ignored him. “You’re never going to get a date, you ugly slag. What with that branch up your vag—”

“That does it.” Draco brandished his wand, preparing to cast. Goyle and Crabbe whipped theirs out as well, pointing them at the blond. 

Hermione stood, interfering in between. “Stop it! Stop it, I said! Do you want me to report you to Madam Pince?” 

As if on cue, Madam Pince appeared in between bookshelves and approached the table. She propped her weight on one hip and crossed her arms in front of her chest, cocking a singular brow. “Children,” she paused dramatically, sizing each of them up. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, Madam Pince,” Hermione replied, straightening her green robes. “Crabbe and Goyle were just leaving. Weren’t you, boys?” She looked at them pointedly.

Crabbe and Goyle tucked their wands back into the pocket of their trousers hastily, while Draco placed his atop the table. With one last scathing glare at Draco and Hermione, they left.

As soon as they had, Hermione told the librarian, “My apologies, Madam Pince. We’ll be quiet now. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not. This is the second time, Miss Lestrange. One more and you’re banned for the year. Understood?”

“Yes, Madam.”

With that, the librarian left them to their devices. Hermione sat back down on her chair, feeling drained. Draco saw her sigh deeply and without thinking, sat next to her, enveloping her in a hug.

“Are you alright?” He asked. His voice was muffled as he spoke into her hair.

“I’m fine, Draco.”

He nodded. They stayed that way for a while, and Draco inhaled Hermione’s sweet scent. After a while, he said, “It’s not true. Everything Goyle said, it’s not true.”

She smiled. “I know.” She rubbed her tired eyes. 

They broke apart. Hermione assessed the damage done on her homework by Goyle’s spit. “Hmm…” She mused. “Is this salvageable? Are you able to read what’s written there or is it too... wet?”

“Definitely too wet. What’s that supposed to say, ‘o-o-r-c-o-o-t-i-o-n’?” He asked.

Hermione chuckled. “No, that word spells ‘concoction,’ I’m afraid.”

“Ah, that’s how you know it’s beyond help.”

They laughed quietly, trying not to be heard as they had already caused quite a ruckus earlier. Luckily, students were mostly in their common rooms or elsewhere on Saturdays and not in the library. Draco and Hermione had also chosen a location where there were barely any people—only a Ravenclaw in one corner, and another somewhere towards the side.

The whole afternoon and the early part of the evening had come and gone. Hermione had just finished revising her Ancient Runes when she looked up. It was dark outside the windows and the library was merely lit by candles. The two Ravenclaws who had been there were gone. Most amusing, though, was Draco’s head on the table, fast asleep. A little bit of drool dribbled down his chin and onto the wooden surface.

She suddenly thought about the conversation she had had with Daphne the night before. The whole day had passed, and Draco was yet to ask her to Hogsmeade. It only confirmed Hermione’s suspicions: Draco did not see her as anything more than a friend. She convinced herself that she was not disheartened, but she could not help but hope ever since Daphne planted the idea into her head. Hermione had thought that since she turned Goyle down in front of him that he would take that as a sign to ask her, but it seemed as if he did not. She also made sure that Draco knew she was not opposed to a date in Hogsmeade per se, only that she was opposed to _Goyle_ being the said date. Hermione shook her head to dispel the thoughts. _No matter, the night isn’t over. He might still ask me before bed._

Hermione smiled, placing her hand on his arm.

“Draco… Draco, wake up.” She shook him gently.

His eyes opened blearily. “Hmm?”

“Wake up, or we’ll miss supper.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbled groggily, his voice deep and scratchy.

Hermione laughed, ruffling his hair. Draco cringed away and groaned in protest. She knew he absolutely _hated_ it when people touched his hair, and she was no exception.

“Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Alright fine, woman.” He sat up and wiped the drool with the back of his hand. Draco packed his parchment and writing materials into his bag while Hermione waited, as she had already done so before waking the boy.

They stood, but before they walked away, Hermione reached out towards his neck.

Draco’s breath hitched. He stared at Hermione. 

She fixed his lopsided collar, but Draco did not notice. What he _did_ notice was the coolness of her fingers against the heat of his neck. 

She turned away to start walking when Draco said, “Hermione,”

“Hmm?” She pivoted, cocking her head.

“Will you…” He almost asked her then and there. He almost blurted his wish for her to go on a date with him the next day. He almost did, but in his mind’s eye, he saw the look of rejection on Goyle’s face… how he looked so torn and angry at the same time... and decided that he did not want that for himself. 

Draco continued. “Will you... tie your shoelaces, please? You might trip.”

Hermione’s face fell. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

 _Of course, he wasn’t going to ask me. What was I thinking?_ Hermione chastised herself silently, bending over to tie her shoelaces.

* * *

Hermione tried not to feel bad the next morning when Daphne stood in front of the mirror to fix her glamour charms onto her body. Daphne, being the person who knew Hermione best, didn’t probe. She knew that Draco hadn’t asked Hermione out, and though her best friend wouldn’t admit it, she knew she was hurt.

Daphne met Dean in the courtyard with most of the people. She beamed at him and left Hermione’s side to take his hand. For a second, she was all alone. She looked around her for her friends, finding none of them. She knew that Pansy and Tracey had planned on coming, but she wasn’t sure whether or not they would push through. Draco, too.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Crabbe and Goyle.

 _Nope_ , was her immediate reaction. She was still uncomfortable with the two, as Goyle had insulted her yesterday and Crabbe only watched. She turned her back to them, in case their eyes wandered to where she was. 

As she turned, she found a spectacle-clad boy with black hair and his redhead companion. It was Harry and Ron.

“Hey,” she greeted, walking towards the two.

“Morning!”

“Hi Hermione,” they greeted at the same time.

“You’re going to Hogsmeade too?” Asked Ron.

“I am. You?”

“Yup,” Ron said.

Harry said, “I didn’t even have to ask. As soon as I mentioned Hogsmeade, my Godfather—Sirius Black, you know him, Hermione, right? Well, he demanded to sign the permission slip immediately. Didn’t even bother reading it!” He laughed out loud.

“That’s great,” Hermione commented, looking around for anyone in green robes.

“I, for one, am most excited about Zonko’s joke shop. Say, Harry, do you reckon we’d find a few hiccough sweets and dungbombs? I want to get back at Fred and George for the rain cloud they spelled over my bed yesterday morning.” Ron looked at Hermione. “Fred and George are my older brothers. Twins, they are. And mischievous ones, too. They conjured up a rain cloud while I was asleep. At first, I thought I wet the bed but then my hair was _completely_ soaked through, so that wasn’t it, was it—”

Harry cut him off. “Too much information, mate.”

Ron turned red as his hair. “Right, yeah. Sorry.”

Just then, she spotted a head of platinum hair from the corner of her eye. It was Draco, and he was with Theo and Blaise.

“Hey,” she said to the two Gryffindors. “My friends are here, so... I’ll see you in Hogsmeade?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, see you.”

Hermione walked over to the three boys, noticing that Draco’s gaze was fixed suspiciously on Harry and Ron. “Why were you talking to… _them_?”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean Harry and Ron? They’re my friends.”

Theo chuckled and elbowed Draco’s side. “Told you they were best buddies.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the brunette. “We aren’t 'best buddies,' Theodore.”

Filch announced that they would be leaving in five minutes.

“Where are Pansy and Tracey?” She asked. “And Millie,” she added as an afterthought.

Blaise replied, “Last I saw Pans and Trace, they were having a bit of a row in the common room. Millicent, on the other hand… I haven’t the foggiest.”

Hermione was surprised. On the day before, she had suspected that Pansy and Tracey weren’t on the best of terms, as they had looked to be discussing something serious. It was known to all that Pansy and Tracey were to each other what Hermione and Daphne were—best friends. This troubled her, and she made a mental note to ask them about it later. “Oh. So I’m the only girl, then.”

Theo asked, “What about Daphne? Is she not coming with us?”

“Daph and Dean Thomas are going together. Look, they’re over there.” Hermione gestured towards the front of the line with her head. Daphne was speaking animatedly with matching hand gestures, while Dean’s back was towards them so they couldn’t see his face. Theo’s eyes traveled to the pair and he frowned but stayed silent.

Just then, Pansy and Tracey appeared behind them, looking as happy as ever. It was as if they hadn’t just been arguing in the common room moments before. “There you are!” Hermione said. “What kept you two?”

Pansy answered for both of them. “I misplaced my permission slip and I thought Tracey had it. Turns out it was in my pocket all along.”

Just then, students began walking to make their way to Hogsmeade. Hermione mostly stuck with Pansy and Tracey rather than the boys to hide her embarrassment at not being asked to go by a certain blond. 

* * *

It had been a tiring day, indeed. 

Hermione was in the girls’ lavatory, taking a nearly-scalding shower, while Daphne was brushing her hair in front of the mirror. Her best friend had been quiet since they got back, and so that was how Hermione had known it hadn’t gone well with her and Dean. She tried to ask her what had happened, but Daphne brushed her off with teary eyes.

After the water had begun to run cold, Hermione turned off the flow and wrapped her body in a towel, exiting the stall. As soon as she stepped out, she found Daphne silently crying.

“Oh Daph…” she hugged her without hesitation. Daphne heaved and sobbed into her shoulder, no longer able to contain her despair. Hermione’s arms tightened around her best friend in comfort. “What’s wrong? Did something happen in Hogsmeade?”

Daphne nodded against her hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione ran her fingers through her tresses.

Daphne pulled away and sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. Hermione offered the corner of her towel for her to wipe her eyes on, and she took it. She took a minute to compose herself before speaking. “Dean doesn’t like me back.”

“What?” She questioned. “But I thought you two went out on three dates last summer…”

She nodded and shook her head, rendering Hermione very confused. Daphne explained, “We did go out… but Dean didn’t see it as a date. Well, because I only asked him to teach me Potions, and he only agreed to be…” She inhaled, fighting back tears. “Polite," she spat.

Hermione threw her arms around Daphne again, allowing her tears to stain her bare shoulder.

After a minute, Daphne looked at her and said, “It was so humiliating, Hermione. You should have seen his face when I asked him ‘what are we’. He never liked me at all, you see. He was just, I dunno, baffled. Oh well… that explains why he always looked so confused. He thought I wanted him to tutor me earlier.” She paused, wiping her eyes. Hermione gave her space as she turned to the mirror to splash cold water on her face. 

After Daphne had wiped the moisture off her cheeks she said, “Now I know how you feel.”

“How I feel?” Hermione asked, cocking her head.

“With Malfoy. Like he’ll never see you the same way you see him.”

Hermione grimaced, an objection at the tip of her tongue. Before she opened her mouth to verbalise it, however, she saw Daphne’s face in the mirror. The girl looked absolutely broken. And at that moment, Hermione chose not to tell her best friend that that was _definitely_ _not_ what was going on between herself and the boy. It seemed as if Daphne needed to know that she was not alone, that someone empathized. Right now, Hermione did not correct her.

Earlier that day, Hermione had tried to avoid Draco as much as possible… out of embarrassment. She knew that her feelings (however negligible) were not reciprocated. And so she refused to speak with him for more than a moment to prevent the telltale flush from coloring her cheeks. 

There was one tiny little incident, though. After going shopping and before coming back to Hogwarts, Hermione and her five other friends stopped for a bite at the Three Broomsticks. Draco had sat next to her, much to her chagrin. Hermione refused to budge, though, as she imagined that moving elsewhere would be too obvious. They had ordered fish and chips for the group and ignored everyone’s hostile glares directed at the purebloods, as usual.

_Hermione took a bite off of a chip, savoring its saltiness. She then drowned the taste with water and laughed at Blaise’s demonstration of a defecating creature, or a “shitting goblin” as Theo so sophisticatedly put it._

_Draco turned to her and smirked. Before she knew it, his hand reached across her face and the pad of his thumb made contact with her lower lip. He brushed it lightly. Hermione was frozen with her cheeks aflame._

_She blinked. “Erm… what—”_

_“You had sauce on your lip.” He said hastily, looking away. Hermione’s mouth gaped wide open._

Thankfully, nobody had seen them. It was so awkward after that. Hermione knew that even Draco had kept his distance from her all the way home.

“We’ve got to set a game-plan, Hermione,” Daphne said, snapping her out. “From now on, we won’t entertain boys who don’t like us back.”

Hermione said to Daphne’s reflection, “Or… we could focus on other things besides boys.”

She nodded. “You’re right. We should. We really should. You know what, Hermione? I’m so sick of boys! So, _so_ sick of them. They come around and–and make us think that they fancy us, just so when we actually start liking them back, we’d embarrass ourselves for believing that they ever fancied us in the first place. Well, this is what I say to that. _We’re. Not. Fools._ ” She enunciated slowly. “And they don’t deserve us, anyway.”

Hermione smiled, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m glad you think that. Dean Thomas missed out on the best thing that could have happened to him.”

Daphne turned and genuinely smiled. “You really think so?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes watered. “Thank you, Hermione. That means so much to me.” She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Draco, too.” She added.

“Oh, erm… Draco and I aren’t like that. I don’t really—”

“You talk in your sleep.” She said.

“What?”

“You talk in your sleep,” Daphne repeated.

“And...?”

“And you say stuff you’d never _really_ say when you’re awake. It’s quite funny, actually. It’s sort of like when blokes spill their secrets after a pint or two.”

Hermione blinked.

Daphne chuckled and continued. “You said you like him.” She shrugged.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You most definitely did. Mione, you can ask Anya. She and I were awake when you said it—and before you panic, I asked her not to tell… you’re safe.”

Hermione took a deep breath, blinking several times. She gripped the counter with both arms and stared at her stunned reflection. “I do, don’t I?”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting today, i'm going to start replying to everyone's comments! so feel free to tell me about anything at all :))
> 
> ALSO very important I just wanna say thank u to SmurfetteBlues because this person literally never fails to put a smile on my face from her comments 🥺 ily


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